The Nation Newspaper

Category: Olatunji Ololade

  • Freeloaders’ creed

    Freeloaders’ creed

    It is a curious thing, isn’t it? The ease with which a society can hold out its palms, demanding honey from the hive it has not tended. Once again, I find myself at the front seat of this perennial circus—a boisterous affair where the ringmasters are the very citizens who brazenly dodge taxes, yet demand effective public services. It is the Nigerian penchant for freeloading, a national pastime disguised as survival.

    The story is as old as the first misstep of our fledgling republic. But the truth bears repeating because the wound festers still, growing deeper with each cut. While reporting recently on this very topic, I found myself drawn yet again to the performance and unholy alliance between the common man and the bureaucrat—each playing his part in a silent sabotage.

    A recent tour of Lagos brought me face to face with the latest act in this ongoing drama. Electricity marketers and technicians spin their webs, bypassing meters as deftly as any thief might pick a pocket. The people nod approvingly, grateful for the temporary relief. The electricity they siphon becomes not a crime, but a necessity, a balm for their daily hardships.

    “We had no choice,” they say, the mantra of a thousand justifications. But beneath this veneer of desperation lies a stark reality—every stolen kilowatt-hour is a dagger thrust into the heart of the nation’s future.

    Francisca Pajok, a hairdresser in her mid-thirties, is one such character in this unfolding tragedy. In the dim light of her salon, her idle hands tell the story of a business that has learned to steal its survival. Her generator hums softly outside, its power fed not by the legitimate flow of electricity but by a covert artery—her tampered metre. Pajok feels no guilt, no shame, just revulsion over being found out and disconnected. She is a product of a society where it is not theft if it is survival.

    It is this sentiment, this collective shrugging of responsibility, that has become the hallmark of our national psyche. Nigerians feel aggrieved, wronged by a system that promises much but delivers little. And perhaps, they are not entirely wrong. After all, the labyrinthine corridors of public governance in this country are filled with bureaucrats fattening themselves on the spoils of corruption. To dwell too long on their deviousness would be to digress—today’s focus is not the thieving civil servant but the citizens who have mastered the art of dodging their dues while loudly demanding services of the finest quality.

    Yet, we cannot ignore the symbiotic relationship between the corrupt official and the citizen who thrive in the shadow of their malfeasance. For every Pajok bypassing her metre, there is a public utility official turning a blind eye, a hand outstretched for a cut of the spoils. This quiet complicity erodes the very foundations of our state. The roads crumble, the hospitals run dry, and the schools rot from within. But still, we demand more.

    And what of the taxes, those lifeblood contributions every citizen owes their nation? Ah, taxes—the ultimate taboo in a country where everyone wants to benefit, but no one wants to pay, even corporate citizens, especially while profit is steady. This sentiment is shared by many, who feel the government is a monolith of ineptitude and corruption, undeserving of their hard-earned naira.

    Read Also: Ebonyi shuts mining companies for non-compliance to community development agreement

    They argue, with some merit, however, that taxes are squandered by public officials who live in obscene luxury while the rest of the country suffers. But in this tangled dance of evasion and entitlement, we forget the simple truth: a government starved of revenue cannot function. Every dodged tax is a school unfunded, a hospital without medicine, a bridge left unbuilt.

    The freeloading infects every corner of society, from the slums to the boardrooms and illicit black markets. Mohammed, for instance, lived off the widening gap between official and parallel exchange rates, amassing a fortune as he arbitraged Nigeria’s currency crisis. But President Bola Tinubu’s floatation of the naira has shrunk those margins. “It’s impossible to make any profit now,” Mohammed laments, blind to the larger truth—that his wealth was never built on real value, only on the quicksand of speculation.

    Mohammed’s loss, like Pajok’s silent theft, is symptomatic of a larger sickness—a nation addicted to shortcuts. Instead of building real industries, creating sustainable businesses, or investing in infrastructure, Nigerians have long preferred the game of quick gains. The naira has become a mere token in this game, a fragile thing bet upon like dice in the hands of gamblers.

    This, then, is the heart of the issue: a society caught in the cycle of evasion, from taxes to currency, from responsibilities to realities. Economic analyst, Tope Fasua, paints a bleak picture of a society betting against itself, citizens hoarding dollars and rooting for the collapse of their national currency. “When citizens lose faith in their own currency, all is lost,” he warns. The wealthy few who stockpile dollars cheer at the naira’s devaluation, blind to the ruin they are hastening. Their gains are short-lived; their profits, like smoke, vanish as inflation eats away at the nation’s lifeblood. Meanwhile, the masses—those without access to foreign currency—suffer the most, as the price of food, fuel, and basic necessities skyrockets.

    Fasua’s words ring with eerie prophecy: “In time, the man with millions of dollars stashed away won’t be able to step out of his house, for there will be zombies waiting to devour him.”

    It is a vivid metaphor for a society that has turned on itself, where the rich barricade themselves behind high walls, while the poor—zombified by poverty—lurk just beyond, hungry and desperate.

    We have built for ourselves a fragile illusion, a fantasy where the government is an inexhaustible well of resources, and we are mere bystanders in the unfolding drama of national governance. But this illusion is crumbling.

    Change must begin at the top. President Tinubu, in his sweeping reforms, has begun to address these issues. The removal of the fuel subsidy and the floatation of the naira are painful but necessary steps toward a more sustainable economy. But for these reforms to truly take root, the government itself must lead by example.

    It is unconscionable to ask Nigerians to tighten their belts, while lawmakers and civil servants grow fat off the public purse. The salaries of public officials must be slashed, their perks curtailed. Only then can the government stand on moral ground when it asks its people to do their part. For as long as the ruling class lives in gilded bubbles, untouched by the stringent economic policies, the cycle of evasion will continue. Pajok will continue to steal electricity. Mohammed will find new ways to game the system.

    The road to redemption will not be easy. It requires sacrifice—not just from the government, but from every Nigerian. Taxes must be paid. Services must be earned, not stolen. The freeloading must end. The light that Pajok steals is not just electricity; it is the future. The currency Mohammed traded in shadows is not just money; it is the potential for real growth that was squandered. The taxes they evade are not just funds—they are the schools, the roads, the hospitals that could lift this nation from its knees.

    Nigeria’s future lies not in entitlement but in the hard work of every citizen, paying their dues, owning their responsibilities. Only then can we rise from the ashes of our own making.

  • Bread and circuses: Nigeria’s sports illusions (2)

    Bread and circuses: Nigeria’s sports illusions (2)

    Nothing quite parallels the dizzying mania that sports elicits in the hearts of men. Charles MacKay, in his immortal musings, captured a fundamental truth about this collective madness: “Men, it has been well said, think in herds; it will be seen that they go mad in herds, while they only recover their senses slowly, one by one.” Nowhere is this mass madness more vividly illustrated than in the fevered obsession over global sports events. Millions cheer, weep, and even fight over tournaments that, when the dust settles, have done little to salve the wounds of a world beset by far graver concerns. The game is but a fleeting balm, a placebo offered to a populace, as governments across the world gleefully embrace the distraction as their most potent tool.

    The medieval Romans mastered the art of subduing the masses with “bread and circuses,” and though their empire crumbled long ago, their strategies remain very much alive in the hands of modern rulers. The gladiatorial games, once a spectacle of bloodshed to sate the people’s primal thirst for violence, have been replaced by grand sports tournaments. The essence, however, remains unchanged. In a Machiavellian dance of power and distraction, global sporting events are designed not merely to entertain but to divert attention from the festering rot within. Corruption, inflation, insecurity—these words evaporate from public consciousness when the whistle blows and the world gathers for yet another tournament.

    In Nigeria, the drums of this deceptive spectacle beat just as loudly. The nation, beleaguered by misgovernance, insecurity, and endemic corruption, joins the feverish race for sports glory with an enthusiasm that borders on the absurd. For every football match won or Olympic medal dreamed of, the agonies of its people are momentarily forgotten. Yet the problems—unemployment, poverty, terrorism—loom ever larger, like shadows ignored in the heat of celebration.

    Read Also: On Nigerians’ poor reading culture

    In 2024, the absurdity assumed worrisome dimensions, when breakdancing was officially recognized as an Olympic sport. The Paris Games, wildly touted as the pinnacle of human athletic prowess, was graced by a spectacle hitherto restricted to a street corner, far from the international stage. To compound this betise, a Nigerian NGO, in partnership with the United States Mission in Nigeria, launched an initiative to promote breakdancing among Nigerian youths. Workshops, masterclasses, and webinars—each a cog in this bewildering machine of misplaced priorities—were held in Abuja and Lagos. American breakdance experts Macca Malik and Jacob “Kujo” Lyons even graced the land, engaging with the Nigerian Olympic Committee and organising workshops for northern Nigerian breakdancers. The sheer audacity of it all was laughable—teaching young Nigerians to breakdance while their homes burned, their stomachs ached, and their futures crumbled.

    At the School for the Deaf in Kuje, a breakdancing club was established, as if such a frivolous pursuit could soothe students living in a region ravaged by terrorism and banditry. It is a cruel joke, a gleaming mask to hide the ugliness of the country’s abandonment of its youth.

    In a nation where basic needs go unmet, where the cries of the impoverished are drowned out by the sound of government coffers being emptied into bottomless pits of corruption, to spend time and resources on such a thing as breakdancing is to willfully dance on the grave of national potential.

    And yet, the charade persisted. In Lagos, the American envoys conducted more masterclasses and promised careers in breakdancing, as though this spectacle of motion could truly lift anyone from the quagmire of poverty. Two champions, plucked from this initiative, were announced as Nigeria’s hopefuls for the Paris 2024 Games, ready to dance their way into international fame. But what did any of this matter? What tangible benefits could this bring to the fishermen of Sankwala, the farmers of Obafemi Owode, or the displaced families of Konduga and Madagali? Their soil remains barren, their rivers dry, their homes unsafe. The spectacle of breakdancing is but a gaudy distraction from the tragedy of their lives, a glamorous bait to reel in the next generation of pawns in this grand confusion.

    It would be amusing if it were not so tragic. Sports in Nigeria has become a golden calf, worshipped with blind devotion while the real gods—education, infrastructure, security—are left to decay in the shadows. When the Nigerian contingent returned from Paris in disgrace, without a single medal to their name, the Minister of Sports, John Enoh, issued a public apology. “We owe Nigerians an explanation,” he declared, puzzled by the abysmal performance. Yet, no apology could suffice for the N12 billion sunk into this ill-fated venture. This colossal sum, which could have provided education, healthcare, or job opportunities for countless youths, was instead squandered on a futile race for fleeting glory. No medals, no victory parade—only the bitter taste of failure and the nagging question of what that money could have achieved if spent wisely.

    When the Super Eagles came second at AFCON 2024, the nation erupted in fevered joy. Yet, as the euphoria subsided, reality dawned with crushing weight. The footballers returned to their cushy contracts, the NFF and sports ministry officials pocketed their bonuses, and the rest of the country remained in darkness—both metaphorically and literally, as power cuts and economic despair persisted unabated. What lasting good did the Super Eagles’ valiant effort bring to Nigeria’s suffering masses? None. The unemployed youth of Ajegunle, the impoverished farmers of Madagali, the destitute families of Waasimi—all were left no better off than they were before the tournament began.

    The truth is that sports, in Nigeria, has become a smokescreen, a tool of mass deception. When Nigerian athletes defect to other countries and win medals for their adopted homelands, the media erupts in scripted vituperation, accusing Nigeria’s leadership of fostering such betrayal. Yet, the real betrayal lies not with these athletes but with a government that fails to provide them—and millions of other citizens—the opportunities to thrive within their own country. As Nigeria hemorrhages talent, its leaders stand bewildered, offering empty apologies for poor performances while failing to address the systemic rot that drives so many to flee.

    Nigeria must get its priorities right. Sports is not an essential industry, nor is it the cornerstone of national development. The country can do without international sports glory if it means redirecting resources to where they are most needed—building roads, electrifying communities, eradicating insecurity, and providing the youth with real, tangible opportunities for success. The nation’s obsession with sports is a reflection of how much Nigerians prioritise spectacle over substance, distraction over development.

    President Bola Tinubu’s administration must steer Nigeria away from this madness. The empowerment of the country’s youth through education, entrepreneurship, and infrastructure must take precedence over the thrill of competing on the international stage. Patriotism lies not in cheering for a football team or a breakdancing champion but in building a nation where every citizen can thrive. Frantic rationalisation about what gains could be had from hosting and participating in sports tournaments is absurd and insensitive.  The N12 billion wasted on Paris 2024 could have funded countless small businesses, empowered thousands of youths, or revitalised communities devastated by terrorism.

    It’s about time Nigeria withdrew from the global sports circus, to refocus its energies on more productive ventures. Let the world chase after medals and trophies. Nigeria must chase after prosperity and peace. For when the applause fades and the lights dim, it is not the gold around a victor’s neck that will heal a nation’s wounds but the steady, patient work of building a future for all.

  • The Anvil and the Forge: Nigeria’s Travail before the Dawn

    The Anvil and the Forge: Nigeria’s Travail before the Dawn

    In Akure, where the sun’s rays bake the tarmac hot, a tragedy unfolded as Oluwatuyi Olasoji, a public servant, got bitten by the serpent of fuel scarcity. The Chairman of the Nigeria Union of Local Government Employees (NULGE) in Akure, Ondo State, paid the ultimate price for the negligence of a system.

    Olasoji, in his final hours, collapsed while waiting to buy fuel, his body overcome by the heat and weight of waiting. He subsequently died at the Federal Medical Centre in Owo. The thin thread of life finally cut short by a preventable tragedy.

    Even in death, he is being exploited. Some, in the wake of the calamity, have turned his death into a rallying cry, a tool to incite anger and chaos. Others milk it for the currency of sympathy, a shallow river of social commentary where words often drown in the flood of outrage. But beyond the artifice, Nigeria’s path to salvation cannot be paved by rhetoric alone.

    There is a reality we must face: Nigeria is poor. This is not a new revelation, but it bears repeating until it sinks into the collective consciousness. Ben Akabueze, the former Director-General of the Budget Office, put it starkly when he compared Nigeria’s meagre budget to that of smaller African nations. It is a sobering thought that South Africa, with a fraction of our population, has a national budget four times larger than ours. Yet, our recurrent spending, allocated towards salaries and running costs, has accounted for more than 75 per cent of the public budget every year since 2011, said Akabueze.

    We are not a wealthy nation. Not yet. Still, the pain of this reality does not erase our potential. The image of Nigeria as a land of plenty was born in the fires of independence. Leaders like Nnamdi Azikwe and Rtd. Gen. Yakubu Gowon fanned these flames, promising to turn Nigeria into an African superpower. The dream persisted, even as the oil flowed and our hopes rose with it. But as the years wore on, the fuel that was meant to lift us became the very chain that bound us.

    Read Also: DHQ inaugurates joint monitoring team for oil theft

    The myth of abundance, perpetuated through decades, strung us on lofty promises and a cavalier declaration by General Gowon in the ‘70s that “Money is not Nigeria’s problem, but how to spend it.”

    This has shackled us to an enduring fantasy. But the riches we were promised haven’t materialised the way we dreamed. And now, we are left with the skeleton of a country that can barely sustain its weight, let alone its people.

    In 2022, the tax-to-GDP ratio in the European Union stood at 41.2%, with France (48.0%), Belgium (45.6%), and Austria (43.6%) recording the highest shares. If you earned €60,000 in these countries, your tax burden would be €28,800 in France, €27,360 in Belgium, and €26,160 in Austria. In stark contrast, Nigeria’s tax-to-GDP ratio in 2021 was just 6.7%, far below the African average of 15.6%. Though it has risen to 10.6%, the gap remains wide.

    This imbalance is worsened by widespread tax evasion, even by those who criticize the government most vocally, as exposed in the Pandora Papers. Nigeria’s oil revenues also pale in comparison to other nations. Saudi Arabia generates $350 billion annually from oil for its 35 million citizens, equating to $10,000 per person. Nigeria, with 220 million people, earns just $36 billion, or $150 per person. Qatar, with a population of 2.6 million, makes $68 billion—over twice Nigeria’s revenue.

    Thus, with low tax collection and insufficient oil revenue, Nigeria is left borrowing or printing money, which only fuels inflation.

    With such an abysmal GDP—barely 10% of it comes from taxes, one of the lowest figures globally. Yet, we expect our government to cradle us like the governments of Western countries, where taxes are the lifeblood of their economies. This expectation, this entitlement, is our Achilles’ heel. Like a child expecting a feast, we do not realise the kitchen is empty. As Reno Omokri rightly pointed out, the state cannot live on borrowed time. If we refuse to pay, we will pay nonetheless through the backdoor of inflation and devaluation, the silent tax that eats away at our pockets.

    Today, as we wait for the Dangote Refinery to deliver us from fuel scarcity, there is a painful truth we must swallow: fuel prices will increase. Once the refinery takes off, it will set its prices according to market forces. Fuel, once subsidised and controlled, will become subject to merchant whims and market fluctuations.

    President Tinubu stands at the helm of a ship tossed by these turbulent waves. His gospel of “Renewed Hope” becomes a hard pill to swallow when hope seems as scarce as fuel. His palliatives, intended to cushion the blow of his reforms, feel distant and abstract to the man in the street. The sight of a privileged ruling class heightens the appeal of anarchists and dubious opposition figures, who disguise as champions of the masses.

    President Tinubu must grasp the deep well of distrust weaponised against him. Has he truly alleviated the hardships imposed by his policies? It is not enough to announce palliatives—how do his measures resonate in the hearts of the people? How do they fare in the court of public opinion?

    State governors appear to sabotage his efforts, redirecting increased federal allocations into personal vaults – no longer able to profit from currency manipulation. Instead of fostering relief for the suffering masses, many have chosen to fund their own vanities.

    The government must reconnect with the citizenry on a relatable level, deploying resources to educate them on the true purpose of stringent reforms. The Ministry of Information, tasked with effective communication, must mobilise for the cause. The media, too, must be embraced as partners in progress while courting the psychological buy-in of the citizenry.

    And here lies the government’s challenge—it must not only preach sacrifice but demonstrate it. The executive and legislature must show, through grand and small gestures, that they understand the weight of the burden they are asking the people to bear.

    It is not enough to roll out numbers and policies; the government must reach into the heart of the nation and rebuild trust. Distrust festers like an open wound, nurtured by opposition figures who, having lost their hold on the reins of power, stoke the flames of dissent. These orchestrators of discontent, hidden behind screens and platforms, manipulate the masses for their gain. They speak of revolution, of tearing down the old order, but they are merely opportunists, waiting to carve out their piece of a fractured land.

    The government, for its part, must rise above this fray and court the citizenry, not with platitudes but with tangible proof of shared sacrifice, like a 50% slash in executive and legislative salaries and allowances. This may assuage the rising tide of frustration that threatens to sweep the country into another period of unrest.

    Yet, amid this uncertainty, one thing is clear: the hardships we face are the birth pangs of a new order. It will get hard before it gets pleasant. The time for illusions is over. We must wake from the dream of endless wealth and wrest Nigeria from bankruptcy.

    In the anvil of these trials, Nigeria will either break or be forged anew. It is a process that demands patience, endurance, and, above all, sacrifice. The government must lead the way, and the people must follow, out of a shared understanding that this is the price of progress.

  • Twinkle, twinkle, to the dust

    Twinkle, twinkle, to the dust

    In Voltaire’s Bastards, J.R. Saul analyses how a mortal hankering to stifle divinity and demote the Creator inspired an earthly race for renown through image commodification.

    This dubious quest is native to Nigeria, where millions of youths are successively conditioned, under the neon glow of fame’s fleeting allure.

    Society superintends this psychological amputation of its young in the manner that beggars maim their children, to habituate them to their future pigeonholes.

    The enthrallment with celebrity has led us to a whole new state of mindlessness. Digital broadcaster, DSTV/Multichoice, understands this “truth” hence it sinks its fangs into the minds of the youth, as the falcon does to weaker fauna.

    There is no one to protect the young from the aggressive cues the broadcaster insinuates into their psyches. The fault is hardly with DSTV/Multichoice, however, but with Nigerian parents who leave the task of raising their wards to the purveyor of dross.

    The blame goes to a Nigerian leadership stymied in a swamp of questionable freebies and patronage. Even the press, which ought to serve as a shield and last bastion of resistance to the South African broadcaster’s perverse programming is enslaved to its tokens.

    Yet, the BBN show must be appreciated for its unwelcome and stark revelations. In the grotesque theatre of its annual circus, Nigeria suffered a gruesome exposure to its 2023 BBN All-Stars edition. What should have been a mere footnote in the annals of entertainment became a harrowing display of ignorance and a tragic reflection of the depths to which Nigerian youth have sunk.

    A video of BBN housemates bungling a simple quiz went viral, revealing the stark truth: these so-called stars could not answer questions that even elementary school pupils would ace. When asked, “What is 7 multiplied by 0?” one female housemate confidently replied, “7,” oblivious to the simple truth that it is zero. She subsequently claimed that Nigeria’s first president was Olusegun Obasanjo, even though it was the late Nnamdi Azikiwe. And still another, with tragic irony, identified the man on the N100 bill as the late Nnamdi Azikiwe, when the correct answer is Obafemi Awolowo.

    Read Also: Grey-list: Nigeria concludes 30% of FATF action plan items

    One housemate was asked what CAC stands for and she replied “KAK, certificate…,” not minding that the correct answer is Corporate Affairs Commission. Another female housemate stated that the body responsible for making laws in Nigeria is the judiciary even though the correct answer is the legislature.

    In pursuit of N100 million and an SUV, inmates of BBN’s amorality jailhouse shun dignity, decorum and presumed good breeding, to engage in wanton sex, voyeurism, and tantrums.

    In previous editions, some housemates had sex in a public toilet, before a global audience.

    The scene prefigures the transition from high morality to decadence. The antics of youth in the debate about the BBN depravity, for instance, emphasise a throwback to primordial whim.

    One hyperactive youth responded to my critique of the show, stressing that it offers youths, like him, a limitless opportunity to ‘blow’ (attain renown). To that, I responded: “Should terrorism be legalised because perpetrators make a fortune from it? But he retorted: “Oga na English u dey speak.”

    If the latter’s retort is regrettable, the housemates’ bungling of the quiz, sexual escapades and societal applause, are even more heartbreaking. These are not mere lapses, but alarming signs of a society in freefall.

    Despite the housemates’ woeful grasp of basic knowledge, millions of youths continue to worship them as cult idols, oblivious to their intellectual and moral bankruptcy.

    The tragedy deepens as dubious demagogues, seeking to exploit the celebrities’ social capital, court their endorsement to sway the votes of their blindly obedient followers. The consequences of such manipulations are better imagined.

    In this clime, blind celebrity worship becomes a dangerous distraction. The time wasted keeping vigil to view the sexual escapades of BBN housemates could be better spent growing a garden, playing football, painting a picture, reading or writing a book. Yet, the obsession persists, fostering a culture of “dumbing down” of an entire generation and their blind projection of celebrity bias.

    We have seen this “dumbing down” manifest from the botched 2020 #EndSARS protest to the so-called 10 Days of Rage, otherwise known as the #EndBadGovernance protest. The recent revelation by the Nigeria Police Force, that the 2024 #EndBadGovernance protest was masterminded by one Andrew Wynne, also known as Andrew Povich or Drew Povey, a British national, wanted for allegedly orchestrating a plot to overthrow the Nigerian government, establishes the need for the youth to be more circumspect in aligning with causes marketed by their favourite entertainment or political celebrities.

    The malady is endemic, spanning social and professional circuits, as many youths enter the corporate workforce armed with little more than an entitlement mentality and an aversion to responsibility.

    The blame must be shared. Parents who left their children to be raised by a despoiled, sensationalist media, a compromised government and broadcast regulator, and an inefficient school system are complicit. They jointly superintend the perversion of our social institutions into factories of folly, producing cannon fodder for the mindless mob.

    The fascination with celebrity costs Nigeria more than can be accounted for. It has triggered an astronomical quest for accidental renown via frivolous attempts to set world records—longest kissing hours, massage sessions, cooking marathons, and even crying marathons.

    Yet, amid the hustle, the nagging question persists: “To what end?” More youths commit their imagination and passion to extreme and featherbrained quests, chasing after the wind.

    We must return to grassroots empowerment and mobilisation around constructive industry as an antidote to societal decay. This requires fostering a culture of accountability, decency and social responsibility. The youth must be taught to resist the commodification of their identities by social media platforms, the false promises of instant celebrity and influencer capitalism.

    The interaction between the public arena and the celebrity hopeful channels primal fantasy even as it skirts the borders of a business transaction. The result ultimately manifests in transient celebrity or the flipside of renown.

    Nonetheless, the proverbial 15 minutes of fame thrive by the same artifice, the same choreographed ruse, the endless exploitation of lust by fame junkies that never seem to peter out.

    Yet the obsession with DSTV/Multichoice’s BBN show thrives by the broadcaster’s smirking depravity and the sudden melting of inhibitions of its Nigerian public. It’s like the holocaust and apocalypse. Society stands at ground zero, incinerated by the South African invader. The latter’s Nigerian staff play pimping pawns; soliciting secondary pawns comprising fame junkies and fortune hunters, eager to live like caged animals or guinea pigs, in the broadcaster’s televised dross – for a material prize.

    The shows’ participants simply cheat themselves of a learning experience; they circumvent a slow, steady, enlightened path to acclaim, to self-intoxicate in accidental celebrity. Unknown to them, the instant fame and opportunities in which they luxuriate are merely flash currents in the electric moment before lightning strikes, and they are reduced to rubble: celebs, glitter and all.

    A glance behind the glitter usually reveals something more than a colourful paradise. It invalidates the deceptions of fame and instant wealth. It is akin to what Saul Bellow likened to picking up a dangerous wire fatal to ordinary folk or rattlesnakes handled by hillbillies in a state of religious exaltation, in his novel, Humboldt’s Gift.

    Many who grasped these super-charged wires and serpents have been found to incandescence in acclaim for a little while, and then they wink out, which leads to a more profound suspicion of celebrity.

  • Bread and Circuses: Nigeria’s sports illusions

    Bread and Circuses: Nigeria’s sports illusions

    Sports is an opiate of the masses. In the grand amphitheatre of competitive games, nations march proudly onto the global stage, draped in their flags and fueled by nationalistic fervour.

    But beneath this vibrant display lies a sombre truth: sports competitions are a grand spectacle designed not to uplift, but to distract.

    This truth, which echoes the ancient Roman vanity of “bread and circuses,” diverts attention from the pressing issues of every era—misgovernance, corruption, insecurity. So, rulers kept the populace appeased and distracted with games, all while the empire teetered on the brink.

    In the same vein, modern sports seek to obscure global realities. The Fédération Internationale de Football Association (FIFA) is simply a tool of deception deployed and partnered by world governments, to rationalise forces ungoverned and ungovernable. Like early religion, competitive sports enable us to seduce and control our primal fear: mass anarchy.

    The hungry man may be angry but he is sooner wooed from his state of angst into feverish, obsessive delight via the instrumentation of sports spectacles. Global sports events, like the World Cup and Olympics, perpetuate ritual cognition, a repetition-compulsion of phoney camaraderie. Every global tourney perpetuates an enduring fallacy, that humankind is affable, prosperous and glamorous. But this superficial judgment is woefully inadequate for varnishing political hostilities and global poverty.

    The phrase “bread and circuses,” coined by the Roman poet Juvenal in the first century AD, speaks to a time when emperors, shrewd in their understanding of human nature, doled out grain and staged grand spectacles to keep the people content and disengaged from the crumbling state of their empire. Augustus, Rome’s inaugural emperor, masterfully employed this strategy, dedicating a fifth of the year to public games. These events, from chariot races to blood-soaked gladiatorial combats, served as both entertainment and a means of control, ensuring that the citizens remained blissfully ignorant of the empire’s deeper, festering wounds.

    Today, we witness a similar dynamic at play. The modern global sports arena, with its World Cups, Olympic Games, and continental tournaments, serves as the new Colosseum. Countries, regardless of their economic or social challenges, compete fiercely to host and participate in these events. They pour billions into the construction of stadiums and the preparation of athletes, while their citizens languish in poverty, their infrastructure crumbles, and their economies teeter on the brink of collapse.

    Read Also: Paris Paralympics: Nigeria draw tough opponents in table tennis

    Nigeria dallies at the precipice of such a folly. The suggestion that Nigeria could co-host the 2027 African Cup of Nations (AFCON) with Benin wasn’t just unthinkable, but foolhardy.

    It is a bittersweet relief that the joint bid by Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania emerged victorious, sparing Nigeria the burden of this costly spectacle. Yet, even as these East African nations revel in their success, one cannot help but wonder: what price will they pay?

    While some may argue that such a grandiose enterprise would boost national pride and stimulate economic activity, the reality is starkly different. President Tinubu, in particular, must resist the siren call of international sporting glory, and focus on steering the nation out of the quagmire of maladministration and impoverishment.

    It is not within the president’s remit to place food on every table, but it is his responsibility to create an enabling environment where millions of unemployed youths and underpaid workforce can flourish in economic self-reliance and solvency.

    Government must quit squandering vast sums of money to sponsor a handful of athletes and the avaricious managers of the sports federations, while the general populace gains nothing. Nigeria will not collapse if it abstains from the next World Cup and AFCON. If Mr. President had offered 100 million youths a choice between a N10.5m agricultural entrepreneurship grant – in supervised instalments, and a fostered, sustainable market – or committing funds to an ill-fated N12bn-Olympics contingent, the World Cup or AFCON qualifiers, it’s a no-brainer what the youths would choose.

    Nigerians do not need the hollow triumphs of the global sports stage; they seek an environment where their small-scale enterprises or startups can thrive. They want good roads, stable electricity, and a protected market for their goods and services—real, tangible benefits that far outweigh the fleeting thrill of a football World Cup, AFCON, or Olympic Games.

    Frantic rationalisation about what the country could gain from hosting and participating in sports tournaments is absurd and insensitive. Even if Nigeria had won all the gold and silver medals at the recently concluded 2024 Paris Olympics, it would still be wasteful and ill-advised to devote N12 billion to the event. While the bulk of the money was spent on the 88 athletes and 84 officials who represented Nigeria, it would have been more appreciable if such funds were earmarked for more visionary and people-centred empowerment initiatives pivotal to industrial and sustainable socioeconomic growth.

    Indeed, sports events have often been used as conduits for financial crimes. The Ghanaian FA allegedly spent close to $9 million on its ill-fated AFCON 2023 appearance – much higher than Zambia’s $2.1 million. This staggering amount, notably higher than the prize money for the AFCON winner, was spent by a country facing financial challenges, including loan defaults and an IMF bailout.

    Brazil’s 2014 World Cup experience offers another cautionary tale. Despite spending an estimated $15 billion on the tournament, the country reaped little benefit. The construction of stadiums and the upgrading of infrastructure came at an immense social cost, displacing between 800,000 and 1.5 million people, without adequate compensation. FIFA, meanwhile, made $4.8 billion in revenue, leaving Brazil with a legacy of debt and social unrest.

    Nigeria must learn from Brazil’s mistake. It’s about time we withdrew from the global sports stage and redirected our resources to more productive ventures. Empowering the youths for self-reliance and economic solvency will reduce their vulnerability to manipulation by demagogues and anarchists who exploit them for political gain.

    The ephemeral victories of sports events offer little more than superficial bragging rights. The true beneficiaries are the athletes who seize the opportunity to showcase their talents and ink lucrative personal deals, and the government officials who exploit the occasion to engage in corrupt practices.

    Nigeria’s 2013 AFCON victory under late Coach Stephen Keshi, brought no positive changes to the lives of millions of unemployed youths and impoverished Nigerians. Good roads, functional hospitals, a well-funded public school system, and a thriving, youth-driven agricultural economy are preferable to participation in reckless, purposeless sports tourneys.

    If distraction is what we seek, Nigeria could woo private investors to rebuild our local sports leagues and restore their past glories. This approach could be extended to other sports, such as swimming, archery, and track and field.

    Stepping back from the global sports arena could enable us to grow our talents appreciably towards a surer, more successful global footing in the future. Yet the folly of Nigeria’s corrupt, clueless sports federation is evident in its persistent maladministration and recent employment of a mediocre European coach for the Super Eagles, while ignoring cheaper, seasoned local coaches, with international experience.

    To those kicking against a Nigerian coach based on George Finidi’s dismal outing, shall we also employ Europeans to man the NFF and our public offices, given Nigerians’ lacklustre performance in those departments? Let’s hope the European proves to be a good hire.

    Nigeria must step back from the global sports arena and invest in its future, creating a fair and just society where every citizen, and not just a few sportsmen and administrators, has the opportunity to thrive.

  • Because we happened to Nigeria…

    Because we happened to Nigeria…

    Nigerians are a curious breed. Think of us as the proverbial coastal dwellers dying of thirst. We lament our parched tongues. But we defecate in our fresh springs and struggle to slake our thirst with poisonous waters from distant lands.

    Beyond metaphor, Nigeria teeters on the brink of cognitive dissonance, the mental racket that fuels our habit to curse our fate after we self-destruct.

    This dissonance seeps into the wellsprings of our civilization—corrupting culture, family, and our social institutions. The manifold failures that beset our country, from the bungled economy to our subversive partisanship; to our lack of universal and quality health care; to protracted terrorism and the neocolonialist grip on our politics and media, can all be traced back to the very institutions that mould and sustain our citizenry and political elite.

    In this fractured landscape, the need to rescue Nigeria from destructive mentality is not just urgent but existential. Amid the chaos, some Nigerians endeavour to challenge the status quo or at least sound the alarm over a glaring social ill. Consider the sad case of a certain Simon Oladapo, who witnessed the final moments of a very dear one at the Lagos University Teaching Hospital (LUTH). The latter was taken to LUTH on an afternoon, only to be told that no beds were available—a familiar refrain in a country where scarcity often cloaks corruption.

    Yet, hope flickered when a bed was suddenly offered for a price: N100,000 naira. The sum was paid, and a space was secured. Oxygen, the breath of life, was the next demand, and again, money exchanged hands. Then came the tests, a race against time that ended abruptly within three hours of admission, as the patient’s life ebbed away. Yet at the latter’s death, the real ordeal had only just begun.

    The hospital, a place of healing, became a labyrinth of toxic bureaucracy. The release of the body was contingent upon the mortuary staff, who refused to act without a Coroner’s report. The Coroner, however, was conspicuously absent, a ghost in the machinery of death. Meanwhile, the hospital staff insisted on an autopsy before issuing a death certificate, despite the family’s refusal. The autopsy, they were told, would cost another N200,000 naira.

    Hours passed in anguish before the Coroner appeared, signing the necessary documents. An ambulance, hired to transport the body to Ibadan, waited in the oppressive silence. The mortuary staff, elusive for over an hour, eventually materialised, moving the corpse to the morgue where a fresh demand for an autopsy was made—despite the family’s protests.

    The morgue was then locked, its gate shut against the grieving family. The ambulance, hired in haste, stood idle as the night closed in, the family left stranded and broken by a system that seemed to care more for today and tomorrow’s fees than for the dignity of the dead.

    In the face of such cruelty, Oladapo lamented, “No honour for the dead. No feelings for the bereaved. I understand that the management of LUTH may not be aware that their staff are doing this. Some of those demons probably went to Mosque today to pray for a better Nigeria. Some of them will probably be in Church on Sunday to pray for Nigeria. As long as you have demons running around government institutions like this, no matter how fervently people pray for Nigeria, it will remain an irredeemable country.”

    The story resonates the pitiable fate of Dele Agekameh, an accomplished journalist whose life expired at the gates of the Lagos State University Teaching Hospital (LASUTH) in 2019. Agekameh was a victim of apathy and dereliction of duty from those who swore an oath to save lives. Nurses, who should have been the hands of mercy, turned away, leaving a dying man in his car – until he was pronounced dead.

    Did the walls of LASUTH reach out and deny him care? No, it was the men and women within. They are the embodiment of the everyday Nigerian—entrusted with position, power or privilege, only to wield it as a sword against the weak.

    Every Nigerian, in their silent complicity or active participation, chisel away at the foundations of the country, and then turn to curse the ruins they created. It is a twisted dance of self-sabotage, where the blame is artfully shifted to an abstract entity—Nigeria—an entity as lifeless as the earth and as pure as the gold lying dormant beneath it. But it is not Nigeria that fails her people; it is the people who fail Nigeria.

    This grotesque spectacle repeats in the fate of several deceased and bereaved Nigerians, who are forced to navigate a maze of extortion and inefficiency, as hospital staff bicker over bribes and paperwork while precious lives ebb away.

    What does this say about us? That in our quest for self-enrichment, even the sanctity of life is a commodity to be bartered? Such mean-spiritedness belongs primarily to the predator while it hunts its prey. Several civil servants and public officers become the architects of a dystopia where justice is bought, where healthcare is denied to the sick, and progress is sabotaged.

    Read Also: National single window project kicks off in Nigeria

    Yet, amid the grand chorus of finger-pointing, how many Nigerians pause to consider their own roles? It is easy to lament that “Nigeria happened” when faced with hardship, to cry that this vast land is cursed. But Nigeria is no more than soil and stone, rivers and mountains; it is Nigerians who manifest on Nigeria, like a curse.

    We see it in every corner of society. The Power Holding Company of Nigeria (PHCN) and National Petroleum Corporation Limited (NNPCL), for instance, plunge the nation into darkness and a vortex of fuel scarcity, not out of some malevolent force of nature, but through the hands of saboteurs within their ranks.

    The hypocrisy is staggering as the same civil servant who extorts and afflicts the public will bemoan leadership corruption and the state of the nation.

    Consider too, the sad irony of the 2020 #EndSARS movement, a powerful uprising against police brutality that ended in bitter public squabbles over the embezzlement of donor funds. How telling, that even in the midst of a righteous cause, the beast within us reared its head. We saw how swiftly the noble became the ignoble, how quickly the movement for justice was tainted by the same greed it sought to eradicate.

    This is not Nigeria’s fault. It is the fault of Nigerians, who pervert the promise of this great land. Until we confront this truth, we will continue to stumble in darkness, blaming the shadows for the sins we commit in daylight.

    We have weaponised our social systems, perverted our institutions, and in doing so, we have crafted a narrative of national failure. We are the saboteurs, the fraudsters, the corrupt officials, the indifferent citizens who look the other way. We are the ones who have taken a country rich in potential and turned it into a cautionary tale.

    But all is not lost. The first step towards redemption is recognition. We must see Nigeria for what it truly is—not a malevolent force, but a victim of our collective failings. And in that recognition, there is hope. Hope that we can change, that we can stop this self-inflicted tragedy and begin to build the Nigeria we dream of—a land where the soil is rich not only in resources but in the promise of a better future. Nigerians are a curious breed. Think of us as the proverbial coastal dwellers dying of thirst. We lament our parched tongues. But we defecate in our fresh springs and struggle to slake our thirst with poisonous waters from distant lands.

    Beyond metaphor, Nigeria teeters on the brink of cognitive dissonance, the mental racket that fuels our habit to curse our fate after we self-destruct.

    This dissonance seeps into the wellsprings of our civilization—corrupting culture, family, and our social institutions. The manifold failures that beset our country, from the bungled economy to our subversive partisanship; to our lack of universal and quality health care; to protracted terrorism and the neocolonialist grip on our politics and media, can all be traced back to the very institutions that mould and sustain our citizenry and political elite.

    In this fractured landscape, the need to rescue Nigeria from destructive mentality is not just urgent but existential. Amid the chaos, some Nigerians endeavour to challenge the status quo or at least sound the alarm over a glaring social ill. Consider the sad case of a certain Simon Oladapo, who witnessed the final moments of a very dear one at the Lagos University Teaching Hospital (LUTH). The latter was taken to LUTH on an afternoon, only to be told that no beds were available—a familiar refrain in a country where scarcity often cloaks corruption.

    Yet, hope flickered when a bed was suddenly offered for a price: N100,000 naira. The sum was paid, and a space was secured. Oxygen, the breath of life, was the next demand, and again, money exchanged hands. Then came the tests, a race against time that ended abruptly within three hours of admission, as the patient’s life ebbed away. Yet at the latter’s death, the real ordeal had only just begun.

    The hospital, a place of healing, became a labyrinth of toxic bureaucracy. The release of the body was contingent upon the mortuary staff, who refused to act without a Coroner’s report. The Coroner, however, was conspicuously absent, a ghost in the machinery of death. Meanwhile, the hospital staff insisted on an autopsy before issuing a death certificate, despite the family’s refusal. The autopsy, they were told, would cost another N200,000 naira.

    Hours passed in anguish before the Coroner appeared, signing the necessary documents. An ambulance, hired to transport the body to Ibadan, waited in the oppressive silence. The mortuary staff, elusive for over an hour, eventually materialised, moving the corpse to the morgue where a fresh demand for an autopsy was made—despite the family’s protests.

    The morgue was then locked, its gate shut against the grieving family. The ambulance, hired in haste, stood idle as the night closed in, the family left stranded and broken by a system that seemed to care more for today and tomorrow’s fees than for the dignity of the dead.

    In the face of such cruelty, Oladapo lamented, “No honour for the dead. No feelings for the bereaved. I understand that the management of LUTH may not be aware that their staff are doing this. Some of those demons probably went to Mosque today to pray for a better Nigeria. Some of them will probably be in Church on Sunday to pray for Nigeria. As long as you have demons running around government institutions like this, no matter how fervently people pray for Nigeria, it will remain an irredeemable country.”

    The story resonates the pitiable fate of Dele Agekameh, an accomplished journalist whose life expired at the gates of the Lagos State University Teaching Hospital (LASUTH) in 2019. Agekameh was a victim of apathy and dereliction of duty from those who swore an oath to save lives. Nurses, who should have been the hands of mercy, turned away, leaving a dying man in his car – until he was pronounced dead.

    Did the walls of LASUTH reach out and deny him care? No, it was the men and women within. They are the embodiment of the everyday Nigerian—entrusted with position, power or privilege, only to wield it as a sword against the weak.

    Every Nigerian, in their silent complicity or active participation, chisel away at the foundations of the country, and then turn to curse the ruins they created. It is a twisted dance of self-sabotage, where the blame is artfully shifted to an abstract entity—Nigeria—an entity as lifeless as the earth and as pure as the gold lying dormant beneath it. But it is not Nigeria that fails her people; it is the people who fail Nigeria.

    This grotesque spectacle repeats in the fate of several deceased and bereaved Nigerians, who are forced to navigate a maze of extortion and inefficiency, as hospital staff bicker over bribes and paperwork while precious lives ebb away.

    What does this say about us? That in our quest for self-enrichment, even the sanctity of life is a commodity to be bartered? Such mean-spiritedness belongs primarily to the predator while it hunts its prey. Several civil servants and public officers become the architects of a dystopia where justice is bought, where healthcare is denied to the sick, and progress is sabotaged.

    Yet, amid the grand chorus of finger-pointing, how many Nigerians pause to consider their own roles? It is easy to lament that “Nigeria happened” when faced with hardship, to cry that this vast land is cursed. But Nigeria is no more than soil and stone, rivers and mountains; it is Nigerians who manifest on Nigeria, like a curse.

    We see it in every corner of society. The Power Holding Company of Nigeria (PHCN) and National Petroleum Corporation Limited (NNPCL), for instance, plunge the nation into darkness and a vortex of fuel scarcity, not out of some malevolent force of nature, but through the hands of saboteurs within their ranks.

    The hypocrisy is staggering as the same civil servant who extorts and afflicts the public will bemoan leadership corruption and the state of the nation.

    Consider too, the sad irony of the 2020 #EndSARS movement, a powerful uprising against police brutality that ended in bitter public squabbles over the embezzlement of donor funds. How telling, that even in the midst of a righteous cause, the beast within us reared its head. We saw how swiftly the noble became the ignoble, how quickly the movement for justice was tainted by the same greed it sought to eradicate.

    This is not Nigeria’s fault. It is the fault of Nigerians, who pervert the promise of this great land. Until we confront this truth, we will continue to stumble in darkness, blaming the shadows for the sins we commit in daylight.

    We have weaponised our social systems, perverted our institutions, and in doing so, we have crafted a narrative of national failure. We are the saboteurs, the fraudsters, the corrupt officials, the indifferent citizens who look the other way. We are the ones who have taken a country rich in potential and turned it into a cautionary tale.

    But all is not lost. The first step towards redemption is recognition. We must see Nigeria for what it truly is—not a malevolent force, but a victim of our collective failings. And in that recognition, there is hope. Hope that we can change, that we can stop this self-inflicted tragedy and begin to build the Nigeria we dream of—a land where the soil is rich not only in resources but in the promise of a better future.

  • Vandals of Renewed Hope: Ruling class, journalists as saboteurs

    Vandals of Renewed Hope: Ruling class, journalists as saboteurs

    It’s hard to fall in love with a country that relegated your parents to pauperdom while confining you to the breadlines. It’s hard to counsel patriotism to children birthed in squalor and trapped in shanties, where dreams asphyxiate under the weight of despair.

    Good luck persuading such youths to embrace their marginalisation while they watch the ruling class luxuriate in opulence and privileges of proximity to power.

    Millions of disgruntled youths find themselves pitted against a political class grossly insensitive to their plight. It hardly matters if a great number among them personify the same ills depicted by the ruling class they despise – all that matters is their entitlement to grief and rage.

    As President Bola Tinubu embarks on a radical re-engineering of the economy and social institutions, it becomes increasingly difficult to counsel patriotism or faith in his vision. How can he preach patience and love for a country that has thus far reduced millions of youths to mere statistics of deprivation?

    To these youths, the admonition to “be patient” resonates as a cruel joke. Patriotism, once a shared language of citizenship, has fractured into two vastly different dialects: one spoken by the privileged few who navigate the corridors of power with ease, and another by the masses who endure the daily indignities of poverty, joblessness, and insecurity.

    Patriotism is indeed a hard sell to those confined to the fringes of a society, where the ruling class and their children flaunt their wealth and privileges on social media. It’s no surprise that the masses, feeling abandoned, would prefer to see Nigeria break and burn, rather than watch it evolve into a paradise that excludes them.

    To the latter, Tinubu’s gospel of “Renewed Hope” feels hollow when their daily reality is characterised by soaring food prices and hardships that outstrip their means.

    Read Also: Lagos distributes 20,000 food boxes to residents

    The government’s plea for patience and understanding falls on ears tuned to the dirge of unfulfilled promises. And yet, in the corridors of power, there is a dissonance, a belief that the suffering masses can be appeased with empty words. How can they be? The man who cannot afford to eat today will not be consoled by promises of a feast tomorrow.

    The perception that Nigeria is only for the elite—those with connections to cabals, and powerful friends—has become entrenched. So, when President Tinubu’s apologists proclaim that he is doing so much that goes unappreciated, the millions who bear the brunt of economic hardships have no patience for such an excuse. They will not listen to appeals for understanding and stoic acceptance of hardships while the ruling class enjoys obscene privileges and spoils from the commonwealth.

    The removal of the fuel subsidy was expected to stabilise the economy, to provide the funds needed to rebuild a crumbling nation. Since the subsidy was lifted, the states have seen a significant increase in their monthly revenue from the Federation Account Allocations Committee (FAAC). Bauchi’s, for instance, rose by 51.5%, and Nasarawa’s by 185.3%, yet nothing has changed. In Enugu, Anambra, Bauchi, Delta, among others, the masses have yet to enjoy any corresponding benefits even as they see efforts to ameliorate their pains get sabotaged by state governors, civil servants, and their cronies. Many governors have refused to pay salaries, backlogs of arrears and pensions to retirees. Where are the new roads, the improved hospitals, the schools that could lift a generation out of ignorance? Instead, the governors divert their increased allocations to purchase mansions abroad and secure their children’s future in foreign lands far from the misery they preside over.

    This widening chasm between the FAAC’s soaring allocations and the stagnation of progress at the state level is a bitter pill to swallow. If the ruling class persists down this path, the seeds of discontent they sow will eventually bear bitter fruit. If the masses resort to anarchy, there will be no country left to loot.

    But while the ruling class has much to answer for, the citizenry, especially the more literate and insightful among us, must display greater tact and caution.

    Journalists, in particular, must desist from inciting the populace and inflaming the polity with partisan views and fabrications. They must understand that the dubious demagogues pulling their strings—those who lost at the 2023 elections—have second and third addresses abroad. If Nigeria implodes, they will flee, leaving us to bear the brunt of the chaos they helped incite.

    Nigeria must avoid the fate of nations afflicted by the Arab Spring, where the promise of revolution gave way to brutal dictatorships. President Tinubu must take more proactive steps to humanely engage with the people. He must counsel his political class to make grand gestures of sacrifice in identification with the people’s plight while enforcing accountability at all levels of governance.

    Federal interventions can play a critical role in state accountability. State access to local and international funds must be tied to certain performance benchmarks in delivering public services and meeting financial obligations. Poor-performing states should see reductions in allocations or complete loss of aid, with those funds redirected to responsible local governments or projects. Travel bans and asset freezes on corrupt state officials can equally serve as effective deterrents.

    President Tinubu’s bid to decentralise power by strengthening local governments with more control over their resources is laudable as a means of reducing the risks of state-level corruption and bringing governance closer to the people.

    Despite these efforts, the youths’ angst is understandable amid a clime where elected leaders treat them with contempt. But rage will not save Nigeria. Rage, if unchecked will devastate the present and hopes for the future.

    Nigeria must learn from the Afghan experience. In the wake of the United States-backed NATO’s sudden withdrawal from Afghanistan, Gaisu Yari, an Afghan refugee, now a grantee of the Open Society Foundation (OSF), recalled his flight from his homeland as his darkest hour.

    As the U.S. and NATO commenced their hasty withdrawal from Afghanistan, he had just four hours to pack up the life he had created in Afghanistan into one suitcase. He had to decide, without wasting time, what to take and what to leave behind—knowing that he might never see anything left behind again.

    Thus, in barely four gruesome hours, he anxiously stuffed a few belongings in his bag and parted with his life, his work, and everything that made him Afghan. In a pain-filled memoir, Yari revealed that he cried all through his perilous trip to the Kabul airport. He hadn’t enough time to say goodbye to loved ones.

    Yari relives the agony of saying goodbye to his tearful mother on the roof of an old house.

    He eventually evacuated to Poland, landing with his family in a refugee camp with scarce food or resources. Yet every day he rues the misery of refugee life, the pain of sudden flight, those stolen moments with his mom, and the ache of being abandoned.

    Every new dawn he spends abroad lacerates and leaves a thick welt on his psyche as he lives some of his darkest days after fleeing his homeland.

    Would Nigerians learn from the sad fate of the Yaris of the world? Despite their initial patronage by the bleeding-heart foreign press, Afghanistan has faded from global news headlines.

    Let us be guided by the Afghans’ experience. Nigerians must shun the lure of anarchy. We must avoid poisonous interventions from foreigners, whose major interest is to abolish our sovereignty, plunder our resources, and strip us bare to devious elements.

  • Delusions of Revolt: Unmasking the ‘Days of Rage’

    Delusions of Revolt: Unmasking the ‘Days of Rage’

    It is the subterranean anthem of the ongoing “Days of Rage,” that President Bola Tinubu be toppled via anarchy or a military coup.

    The protesters incited to mayhem as a rite of riddance of our immeasurable miseries, demand a swift reversal of Nigeria’s economic hardships among a list of farcical demands.

    Thus, on the eighth day of the “1o Days of Rage,” the protest flounders for lack of ethical bent and ideological juice. The most visible achievements of the protesters, so far, manifest in mindless looting, armed robbery, destruction of public facilities and avoidable deaths.

    Some of the protesters have called for a military coup by the Nigerian Armed Forces. Some have called for the invasion and conquest of the country by the Russian military. Amid the chaos, certain opposition figures and self-styled activists egg the demonstrators on, inciting them to grind Nigeria to a halt.

    Whatever the slant of disillusionment triggered by prevalent economic hardships, we must acknowledge that the incumbent administration has set out to tackle them with the right policies.

    Of course, the job isn’t half done. Yet as President Tinubu serves the second year of his tenure, many accuse him of failure already and threaten to burn Nigeria to rubble. In truth, they seek to cut our noses to spite our faces. They are pawns on the leash of dubious demagogues, scheming to barge onto the corridors of power through the trapdoor of anarchy or a military coup. Nigerians will do well to reject them and their doomsday plot.

    Now that I have incited your wrath, what colour is your indignation? Is it “onion brown, hell-red, or currency-green? What’s the price tag? For you won’t be fulfilling that sublime quality of Nigerianness, if your choler isn’t partisan or paid for.

    Amid prevalent hardships and disillusionment, Nigeria stands on the precipice of upheaval, driven by an undercurrent of anguish and simmering dissent. Dubbed the “Days of Rage,” the ongoing protest ostensibly aims to topple the edifices of bad governance, yet it is imperative to unveil the theatrics behind this spectacle.

    How telling it is that those who orchestrated this movement absconded from the nation’s shores before the first chants of defiance echoed in the streets. This grand act of cowardice reveals a bitter truth: the masses, in their fervour, are but marionettes, manipulated by puppeteers who retreat into the shadows at the first hint of danger.

    As the banners of revolt flutter, it is sobering to recognise the tragic irony of the lives lost in these fervent clashes. These souls have been sacrificed upon the altar of avarice, their blood the ink with which political actors and self-styled activists rewrite and renegotiate their access to power and privilege. The architects of this turmoil, far from the frontlines, exploit the threat of anarchy as a bargaining chip in the corridors of power. Among their ranks, a prominent journalist—an intellectual thug—laments in private that he can no longer endure the hardships of political opposition. His confession reveals the hollow core of this supposed revolution, driven not by ideals but by personal gain and opportunism.

    Russian-flag

    Nigeria’s leadership must heed this chaos as a deafening cry for attention, a tragic testament that it often takes the spectre of anarchy to force the government to acknowledge the plight of its people. Yet, it is equally crucial to understand that the citizenry’s scepticism towards promises of peace and dialogue is deeply rooted in a history of unfulfilled assurances. To earn the trust of the populace, leaders must demonstrate tangible sacrifices, slashing the exorbitant salaries and allowances of public officials by half or even abolishing them entirely until the nation’s fortunes improve.

    Those who clamour for violent street protests must pause to consider the harrowing lessons of the Arab Spring. While these uprisings toppled despots, they failed to instil lasting ideological or revolutionary changes. The aftermath has been a relentless litany of chaos and anarchy, with the torchbearers of rebellion swiftly fading into oblivion. In a nation as ethnically and religiously volatile as Nigeria, the descent into an Arab Spring-style upheaval would unleash a maelstrom far more catastrophic. A true revolution, the kind that transforms a nation, lies not in bloodshed but in the collective power of the ballot.

    Change must also blossom within the psyche of the Nigerian citizen. To eradicate bad governance, one must also eradicate bad citizenship. The loud proclamations of rights must be matched by a steadfast adherence to responsibilities. Nigerians must interrogate their governors about the expenditure of federal allocations and the misuse of state funds. In an era where more resources are being funnelled to state and local governments, the scrutiny of their utilization must intensify.

    Read Also: Economic sabotage: NNPCL, NMDPRA, others deny complicity

    It is a grotesque misallocation when states like Cross River allegedly budget N1.47 billion for luxury vehicles for House of Assembly members or when Zamfara reportedly plans to spend N19.3 billion on kitchen equipment and a mere N6.1 billion on public schools amid severe economic hardships. Although the Zamfara government subsequently denied the report, the populace must question such priorities, demanding transparency and accountability from public officers. The fixation on federal governance must give way to a rigorous evaluation of state and local officials. The cost of governance must be slashed, with resources redirected towards practical, people-centred policies in housing, industry, and agriculture.

    For instance, it is a stark misjudgment for Kogi State to allocate 25 per cent of its N400 billion budget to the government house, an entity that generates no revenue. If the protesters were truly driven by patriotism and integrity, they would direct their ire towards state governors who have mismanaged over N570 billion intended for livelihood support. President Bola Tinubu’s recent disbursement of these funds, meant to alleviate the hardships of vulnerable citizens, underscores the need for vigilant monitoring and accountability at every level.

    Yet, the sad reality persists: public officers connive with representatives to divert aid meant for the people. In Taraba, palliative rice allocated to local councils has been hoarded and sold to those it was meant to help. In Katsina, the DSS recovered 2,000 bags of rice out of the 20 trucks donated by the federal government, diverted by corrupt officials. This betrayal underscores the need for a failsafe mechanism to ensure aid reaches its intended recipients.

    President Tinubu must understand that highlighting remedial measures is not enough. A pragmatic, fail-safe system for monitoring and evaluating implementation is crucial to prevent sabotage by corrupt elements.

    It’s about time he pruned his team to the patriotic and courageous few required to implement a radical and progressive overhaul of the country’s economy and social institutions. But he can’t achieve this without politically literate youths and the electorate.

    President Tinubu must constructively engage with the youths, and avoid the selective distribution of access, contracts and appointments to children and stooges of the political class.

    Tinubu’s policies are expected to trigger the re-emergence of spirited and upwardly mobile middle- and working-class divides. Failure to achieve this will render greater segments of the youths as primary fodder for the goons, militias, and thugs deployed by anarchists like the masterminds of the “Days of Rage.”

    The revolution Nigeria needs is not one of chaos and anarchy but one of civic responsibility and vigilant oversight. Only through such a transformation, rooted in accountability and driven by a collective will for genuine progress, can the nation transcend its current woes and stride boldly into a brighter, more equitable future.

  • 10 Days of Rage: It’s always the poor killing and wrecking the poor

    10 Days of Rage: It’s always the poor killing and wrecking the poor

    Enter August 1, 2024: the spectre of protest hangs precariously over Nigeria. Touted as “Days of Rage,” the masterminds intend to lead the masses on a 10-day nationwide protest to end bad governance. After 10 days, the government is expected to swiftly implement their list of non-negotiable demands, which include the reinstatement of fuel subsidies, power sector reform, the unconditional release of IPOB leader Nnamdi Kanu, diaspora voting allowances, the abolition of the 1999 constitution, minimum wage increase to N250,000 monthly, and the release of EndSARS and political detainees, among others, within a couple of days.

    These demands are championed by hashtags like #DaysOfRage and #EndBadGovernance. The right to protest is inalienable, yet caution must prevail. The masses must beware of becoming pawns in a game orchestrated by manipulators who incite revolt from the safety of foreign shores and gated estates. Are they walking the dog, or is the dog walking them?

    The protesters must heed the warning in the wind. Their non-negotiable demands, while rooted in genuine grievances, spiral into the abyss of anarchy. It is premature to pass verdict on President Bola Tinubu’s government just after 12 months of his tenure. They must also appreciate why it is dangerous for any government to capitulate to a mob’s unrealistic demands. None of their highlighted demands can be flippantly done in a couple of days, within or after a 10-day protest – that this is their earnest wish, notwithstanding, depicts the depth of their unrealism and inclination to match the political class’ perceived malevolence and insensitivity to reality.

    Indeed, nationhood thrives as political theatre. And Nigeria offers one big stage to be entertained, informed and misinformed. The process, in recent times, however, assumes the course of indoctrination by courtiers.

    The latter manifests as our most malignant affliction. Comprising journalists, politicians, NGOs, and various shades of rights activists, their machinations are oft inimical to nationhood, individuality, and growth – ultimately because they are deployed as weapons of adverse programming.

    Read Also: Tinubu committed to Nigeria that works for young people, says Speaker Abbas

    This may no doubt resonate as far-fetched to individuals and groups profiting from the status quo, especially the press and civil societies. That is understandable. It is in the nature of bacterium responsible for a pandemic to deem itself the next best thing to happen to earthlings.

    For a people programmed for conquest, Nigerians carry on with unabashed ignorance and arrogance. Arrogance is pitiable. But ignorance is expensive and quite scary. The list of the protesters’ farcical demands reveals a troubling rebuttal of reality. Yet Nigeria soldiers on unperturbed by the ramifications of it all.

    This is what happens when a nation becomes unmoored from reality. It retreats into a fictive nirvana. In this predetermined cosmology, reality is redefined to suit dubious whims and facts are manufactured to soothe relative bias.

    If Nigeria seems unmoored from reality, it’s because our lives and national discourse are dominated by fabricated events. From exaggerated grief over insecurity, misgovernance, and national disasters to celebrity gossip and pageantry of political artifice, the country is sold to desperate narratives at home and abroad.

    Whether it is the soaring price of Premium Methylated Spirit (PMS), the terrorist creed of rage resonant with brainwashed minors and young adults, or the virulent manifestations of partisan politics, the compelling nature of the grievances articulated and the pervasiveness of despair are wielded to justify the rationale for Nigeria’s creed of carnage and the country’s enduring portrayal as a banana republic by foreign governments and consulates.

    A history of corruption and neglect at the federal, state, and local levels of government, among others, morphed into a major source of widespread dissatisfaction towards politicians, the legal system, and law enforcement by the masses.

    These sentiments thrive in greater depths across geographic and virtual space; as Nigeria rejuvenates from the intrigues of the 2023 polls, a wave of validation and reproof of the incumbent political class and the opposition seeking to dislodge it has produced a supercharged atmosphere of warring critics and apologists, cynics and anarchists.

    The bitter truth, like a dagger cloaked in velvet, pierces the heart of our national consciousness: it took the clamour of angst-driven protest and the spectre of anarchy for the ruling class to heed the miseries of its people. Yet they must appreciate why the populace, battered by misgovernance and bruised by broken promises, will not be swayed by mere rhetoric.

    The masses demand grand gestures, sacrifices that resonate with their suffering. Imagine the seismic shift in perception if public officers were to slash their salaries and allowances by half, or even scrap some allowances entirely.

    Recent findings reveal that the Senate President enjoys a basic salary of N2.48 million, while other senators receive N2.26 million monthlies. The quarterly office allowance, a staggering N52 million per annum for a senator and N32 million for a House of Representatives member, underscores the grotesque imbalance. A reduction of these allowances to a third of their fraction and a similar sacrifice by the executive would be a testament to shared sacrifice and a commitment to change.

    Such measures, adopted with transparent communication, must assure the public that the savings will be redirected towards the pillars of progress: healthcare, education, and infrastructure. A pragmatic approach to governance reform must align with our economic realities and developmental goals. It is greedy and self-serving of Nigeria’s leadership to expect the impoverished masses to endure stoically while they bask in the luxuries paid for from public coffers.

    Having witnessed the aftermath of the Arab Spring, the Liberia and Sudan’s protracted civil unrest and armed strife, I can authoritatively state that the impact of such crisis is borne most heavily by the poor. When mayhem erupts, those who march against the ruling class eventually turn on each other. In the ensuing chaos, the elite flee, leaving the masses to slug it out, driven by the toxic spurs of ethnic, religious, and class bigotries.

    The masterminds of the ten ‘Days of Rage’ draw inspiration from the recent Gen-Z protests in Kenya, where youth-led demonstrations against President William Ruto’s tax policies ended in bloodshed and destruction. The president recanted and fired his entire Cabinet, except the foreign minister, just to appease the irate youths. But the latter grew bolder, destroying public property and burning the parliament. The Kenyan National Commission on Human Rights said at least 50 people were killed and 413 others injured less than two months into the unrest amid government crackdown on the protesters.

    It is instructive to note that some of those calling for the protest have already fled the country, and those within the country have perfected their escape plans. Wouldn’t it be refreshing to see these defenders of the people’s rights lead the protests with their families? Yet children of the impoverished, struggling masses idealise the protest as yet another “organic protest.”

    It’s all hogwash. Like #EndSARS, the ten “Days of Rage” will end in further impoverishment and punishment of the poor, most of whom would return to lives of squalor, after trudging the streets chanting hostile, anti-government slogans, at the behest of wealthy, manipulative masterminds.

    In the end, none of the celebrity entertainers, politicians and activists, will share in the losses and hardships imposed on the masses. Let Nigerians be guided by the consequences of the October 2020 #EndSARS protests. Several breadwinners were killed and multibillion naira property destroyed.

  • The siren song of anarchy

    The siren song of anarchy

    How does one love or hate a country? To this, every answer may likely spiral into a fog or eclipse in a vapour of hanging participles. The ripostes may spatter and splay like a treacherous sandstorm but it’s about time we braved its tumult. It’s about time we addressed our innate demons. Call it our therapy of healing or stratagem of entitlement to national trauma.

    Too many people drift through each day with a siege mentality – each individual treating the nation as a savage space, where ferocity is fostered and condoned.

    Inspired by the recent protests in Kenya, Nigerian youths are planning a similar demonstration in the coming weeks. This looming unrest has sent ripples of anxiety through the incumbent administration, spurring a fervent campaign to discredit and deter the youth from this course of action.

    What the government must embrace is a vision of governance steeped in pro-citizenry policies. President Bola Tinubu and his team must avoid pandering to the fancies of the political and business elite. The citizenry has become more vigilant and cynical, and any hint that his policies cater to the inordinate appetites of corporate magnates and oligarchs will not be forgiven.

    There is no gainsaying he achieved a milestone by facilitating the empowerment, through legal provisions, of Nigeria’s local councils with their statutory funding directly from the federation account. This has drawn applause from Nigerians irrespective of political and ethnic affiliations. 

    Thus, Tinubu must understand how his deeds or misdeeds resonate among the populace. It is insufficient to brush off dissent and harsh critiques as mere machinations of a disgruntled opposition. Instead, he must strive to earn the trust and goodwill of the people through a commitment to transparency, decisive, and exemplary performance. This is the best way to earn the respect of his critics and the goodwill of Nigerians.

    Indulging in superfluous luxuries for public officials, especially at a time when Nigerians grapple with widespread hunger, soaring inflation, and insecurity, would be a grave misstep. Recent statistics reveal a staggering food inflation rate of 40% and general inflation at 34.19%. These alarming figures underscore the grievances fueling the planned protests, a poignant reminder of the urgency for genuine, people-centred governance.

    Yet, while Nigerians flay Tinubu for the hardship triggered by his radical albeit progressive policies, we must acknowledge that he isn’t the architect of the prevalent economic distress. Together, we embarked on this Nigerian journey into savage nature, trading vistas of hope for caskets of greed. Together, we railroaded Nigeria to self-destruct. And collectively, we must salvage what’s left of it.

    But we mistake the path we must take as shown by our resort to rant and rave. We cannot speak angst to misgovernance while we nurse barbarism within us. The solution isn’t speaking rage to pain either but healing through its sting and living it out.

    President Tinubu’s economic policies have been heavily criticised by Nigerians in fits of anger and frustration. In response, he has assured that there is hope for the nation’s financial and economic prospects, citing efforts being made by the administration in all sectors. He has assured that though things appear harsh currently, there is light at the end of the tunnel.

    Read Also: IGP to policemen: be honest, transparent

    Speaking at a recent State House event, he said, “We might be going through difficult periods now, but when you look at the Infrastructure Concession Regulatory Commission, the Federal Ministry of Finance, Budget and National Planning and people manning the ship of this country, including Central Bank of Nigeria, they have collaborated and in the spirit of development and progress, we are glad that good effort is being made to retool, re-engineer the finances of the country and make growth our hallmark.”

    As we await the promised dividends of his administration’s policies, shall we desist from inflaming the polity? Already, the social space thrives as a repository of venom and virulent dissent, triggered by the soaring prices of food, goods and services. Against the backdrop of the crisis, the possibility of the citizenry’s resort to anarchy remains the most frightful imagery. Too many social actors intensely replicate our primitive experience. But they have done nothing but reenact the vast facets of evil that we groomed them to personify.

    It hardly matters whether we publicly denounce them, Nigeria would never be rid of them until we set our grief’s needlepoint astride the prick of pain.

    The youths must avoid being used as cannon fodder for violence by disgruntled losers at the 2023 polls, and those embittered by the latter’s loss. The election is over, and it is time to rebuild Nigeria, not ruin it.

    Nigerian youths must shun the manipulations of devious demagogues and channel their ingenuity, passion and resilience into more constructive actions, like building a new Nigeria.

    It is wiser to engage in dialogue and advocate for transparent governance, and accountability from Nigeria’s leadership.

    The youth must avoid being used to sabotage the appreciable measures of regrowth initiated by the incumbent administration. They must avoid being misled by selfish elements seeking to hijack the masses’ dissent and quicken its degeneration into more sinister forms.

    Nigerians couldn’t have forgotten so easily the #EndSARS 2020 protest, and how youths marched onto the streets purportedly to protest bad policing and leadership failure.

    We must remember #EndSARS for what it’s worth: its elegiac stanzas, propitious rage, and inauspicious demise. The tragedy caused by the protest is instructive; it bristles even as you read, with consequences of leadership insensibility and imprudence of youths cut to size—no thanks to hubris.

    The instigators of the planned protest do not give a hoot if it results in widespread anarchy and destruction; if they succeed at burning the country to rubble, they will retire to their investments and opulent sanctuaries abroad.

    The celebrities and pawns inciting protests over harsh living conditions do not truly care about the common man. It will be recalled that they all fled Lekki Tollgate, the venue of the #EndSARS protest in 2020, just before the shit hit the fan. They were all warned off the streets by their powerful parents and other privileged sources. Again, some of them have been contracted to spread inflammatory messages and destabilise the country.

    It is interesting that, like during #EndSARS, Lagos has been chosen as the venue for the planned protest. Citizens should instead direct their grievances to their respective state governors and protest in their home states. Many governors have received unprecedented billions of naira from the withdrawal of fuel subsidies. It’s about time they accounted for how they are using the funds.

    Lagos demonstrates progressive governance, better than any other state, thus its blooming as a melting pot of commerce. The state government must take urgent steps to protect the state from any form of internal and external aggression. Another ill-fated protest in Lagos could destabilise the country and deepen ethnic divisions across the country.

    The most effective protest the youth and citizens can engage in is a strategic and peaceful one via the ballot box. It is reckless to assume that power can be seized through anarchy as seen in the protests in Kenya and the ill-fated Arab Spring, which did little to address the protesters’ grievances.

    For all its symbolism and contrived grandeur, Nigerians must look beneath the blankets of rage to see the true nature of dissent, its toxic traceries of thought, action, and reaction.

    Notwithstanding, President Tinubu must respond humanely, with utmost caution and resolve, lest the pallid yarns of patriotism corrupt citizenship and endanger the country.