The Nation Newspaper

Category: Olatunji Ololade

  • Beyond Steez: Ogun’s paradox of grandeur, deathly roads (2)

    Beyond Steez: Ogun’s paradox of grandeur, deathly roads (2)

    In governance, few things are as disheartening as a leader who mistakes photo ops for decisiveness and progress. Yet, Governor Dapo Abiodun’s recent visit to Akute, an Ogun border town, must be commended even if symbolic of his Initial Gra Gra (I.G.G.)—a colloquialism for showboating without follow-through.

    The governor’s appearance, amid the clamour of a disenchanted populace, is probably not emblematic of a leadership style more concerned with optics than tangible change.

    Governor Abiodun’s eleventh hour sojourn to Iju-Akute few days before his re-election was equally laden with promises of road repairs. His commitment, however, dissipated like the morning mist, once the polls closed. His recent visit appears to be a reprise of such performance, leaving many to wonder if his promise to repair the road in two weeks is merely a prelude to abandonment.

    Beyond his presumed artifice, Ogun manifests as a sick rose, even as his administration paints lurid portraits of the state as a bower of bliss. His administration’s frantic art of concealment necessitates that truth’s approach must take the form of a raid. The press and civil society must rise to the challenge.

    In Akute, Abiodun responded to critics, breathing spunk and rebuke, thus setting in motion, an erratic contradiction of his feigned vigour. His lackeys would insist that his vigour is real in a desperate caress akin to rubbing a lantern to make a genie appear; the charade often persists, until fabricated repute splits to reality’s vengeful lashes.

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    It is particularly galling that he took umbrage at criticisms of Ogun’s road conditions while boasting of 600 kilometers of constructed roads. His achievements, often painted in fervid superlatives by his loyalists, do little to mask the glaring deficiencies in the state’s infrastructure. It is not the duty of every Ogun citizen to blindly applaud his modest accomplishments; rather, it is essential that we, the concerned citizenry, continually highlight his shortcomings against the backdrop of hyperbolic chants of his lackeys.

    Constructive criticism is vital to preventing any leader from becoming complacent or developing a god-complex. No one, least of all a public servant, is beyond reproach.

    The governor’s argument that federal roads are beyond his control falls flat, especially now that the federal government greenlit the repair of the old Lagos-Abeokuta Expressway by him and Lagos governor, Babajide Sanwo-Olu, promising reimbursement. Previous assertion that federal jurisdiction absolves him of responsibility is a shallow excuse, as communities along these federal routes languish in neglect.

    The deplorable roads in Owode-Iyana Ilogbo, Ijako, Ijoko, Singer, Arigbajo, Ifo, Kurata, Itele, Lambe, Waasimi, Ewekoro, Papalanto, Obafemi Owode, among others, have consigned residents to a dystopian existence, exacerbating crime and economic stagnation.

    In fairness to Governor Abiodun, he probably means well, at least going by his lament that he and Governor Sanwo-Olu were frustrated by delays from the Federal Government, right from the administration of former President Muhammadu Buhari. And even though President Bola Ahmed Tinubu has subsequently granted their request to take over the road’s repair, Abiodun yesterday revealed that he faces stiff opposition from some federal officials on the transfer, which forced the state government to formally award the contract in May, with or without the necessary transfer papers. Could President Tinubu and the Minister of Works, David Umahi, please intervene?

    Is Governor Abiodun being sabotaged, or is he being misled by a crooked sense of the reality around him? Even so, his performance hasn’t been spectacular, for a man superintending a treasure trove like Ogun State. Abiodun must be wary lest he ends his tenure like the proverbial prodigal, who assumes invincibility of self, squandering goodwill, public trust and state funds.

    Power intoxicates and corrupts. Yet this writer believes that Governor Abiodun’s maturity should shield him from its ravage. He must rein in exuberant aides who have morphed into frantic sophists and dubious apologists, and counsel them to go easy on their attempts to rationalise the coarse manifestations of his administrative lapses.

    More worrisome are the antics of a member of his cabinet with a knack for berating critics under different pseudonyms. It’s mortifying to see the liberty he takes. Contrary to this obsequious flunky’s claims, Abiodun’s government is not hopeless before the ravages of inherited rot, it is simply stunted by hubris and acquiescence to corruptive adulation.

    A governor’s character and intentions are crucial to his state’s performance; Abiodun could learn from his Niger State counterpart, Governor Mohammed Bago. From the get-go, Bago committed to a blueprint of affordable priorities, mostly realistic and relatable to his people’s needs.

    One of Bago’s most significant achievements is the overhaul of Niger’s road network. With federal approval, his government commenced the rehabilitation of critical federal roads, ensuring seamless connectivity and facilitating economic growth. To date, the administration has constructed an impressive 1,000 kilometres of roads, including 400 kilometers of federal roads, thereby enhancing the state’s transportation infrastructure and boosting commerce.

    Governor Abiodun must understand that his role is not one of benevolence but duty. He is handsomely remunerated for the position he holds, and his tendency to rationalise inefficiency and issue clapback at critics is unbecoming of a public servant. Instead, he should channel his energies into tangible improvements in public governance.

    The paradox of celebrating the Ojude Oba festival in Ijebu Ode, while the state crumbles, is stark. This grand display of tradition is overshadowed by the reality of citizens traveling on deathly roads to participate. The plight of Ogun residents is akin to the proverbial prodigals ti aiye nwo ni awosunkun, sugbon ti won nwo ara won ni aworerin—those who the world watches with pity, yet they console themselves with laughter.

    Governor Abiodun must shun cosmetic progress and mediocrity, and commit to rebuilding Ogun’s infrastructure. His cronies and aides may recklessly extol his ordinary day in office as extraordinary but the rest of us must hold him accountable. When he does something extraordinary, this writer, in particular, and many more Ogun citizenry will applaud and celebrate him, unsparingly.

    The dire state of roads in Owode Ijako, Agoro Road, Iyana Ilogbo, Ewekoro, Lafenwa, Iyana Iyesi, Itele, among others is a clarion call for action. These deplorable roads are not just an inconvenience; they are a death trap.

    Governor Abiodun must shun hubristic complacency and listen to the voices of the people, not the bootlickers who tell him what he wants to hear. The fate of Ogun citizens hangs in a precarious balance between dystopia and neglect. It is time for the governor to gird his loins and find repair Ogun’s bad roads.

    If Governor Abiodun’s visit to Akute was a PR stunt, it projects disturbing imagery of the workings of his mind and the nature of his cabinet. The gesture manifests as a vaunting totem of egotism and paltriness. The harsh clangour of such intent could infinitely corrupt his administration’s native lyric and stifle his prospects of becoming a folk hero.

    Amid the dystopian expanse of Ogun’s highway communities, echoes of his modest accomplishments dissimulate like a peat bog housing horror beneath humaneness. Deathly roads, insecurity and commuter deaths ruin his administration’s repute in real time, and no degree of spin could launder it clean.

    Let Abiodun man up and devote precious time to the task for which he was elected. Life in Ogun townships is in grave decline. The neglected tracts constitute a sick rose accentuating the state’s deterioration into a food for worms – which reignites the cheerless rhetoric: At the last elections, did Ogun retain a knight in shiny armour or did it suffer the affliction of a tarnished knight?

  • Beyond Steez: Ogun’s paradox of grandeur, deathly roads

    Beyond Steez: Ogun’s paradox of grandeur, deathly roads

    Ogun State, a land of rich heritage and promising horizons, finds itself ensnared in a paradox that both baffles and infuriates. Picture Governor Dapo Abiodun, resplendent in his regalia at the 2024 Ojude Oba festival, basking in the cultural splendour of Ijebu Ode while his constituents navigated a labyrinth of deathly roads to partake in the festivities. This striking contrast—between the pomp of tradition and the grim reality of infrastructure decay—calls for an urgent reassessment of priorities.

    But who cares? The show must go on. Thus, the pageantry persisted through filth and foul. The Ojude Oba festival, while a magnificent celebration of culture, highlights a glaring disconnect. How can such grandeur coexist with abysmal neglect? Participants travelled from near and far, braving the perilous roads to celebrate, their plight akin to the proverbial prodigals who weep outwardly but laugh inwardly. This spectacle underscores the chasm between leadership and the led.

    Consider another paradox in the recently completed Gateway International Airport – supposedly a symbol of progress and ambition. The facility is purportedly built for cargo and passenger flights, while the other zones within the Aerotropolis are marked for concession.

    The Commissioner for Finance and Chief Economic Adviser to Ogun State, Dapo Okubadejo, recently revealed that the state’s Internally Generated Revenue (IGR) has almost tripled from N50 billion in 2020 to almost N150 billion in 2023, thereby ranking Ogun 3rd in IGR drive.

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    Okubadejo was enthused about the proposed Kajola Dry Container Port, which is meant to provide efficient and cost-effective operations for manufacturing companies. He also stated that the state had initiated discussions with the Lagos State Government to extend their Blue Line and Red Line rail networks into the state. Okubadejo, who disclosed this at the 2024 K.P.M.G. Alumni cocktail in Lagos, said with over 6,000 industries and over 500 km of roads constructed alongside six Economic Development Clusters (E.D.C.), Ogun is the investors’ destination of choice,

    Yet, the very roads leading to this gateway of commerce are pocked with craters, turning journeys into treacherous odysseys. The irony is palpable: a state that boasts of industrial and aeronautical advancements cannot guarantee safe passage on its terrestrial routes.

    Will Governor Abiodun ignore the decline of Ogun’s major highways, where decay and death spit venom at hapless citizenry like Siamese cobras daily?

    Once a proud artery of connectivity, the old Lagos-Abeokuta expressway has degenerated into a death trap, claiming lives with ruthless regularity. Commuters dread its lethal stretches and hazardous bypasses, where every journey is a gamble with fate.

    Ignorance is never an excuse for denying the citizenry good governance and fundamental human rights, like access to good and safe roads. It is never “politically expedient” to neglect a class of the governed just because, by will or circumstance, they inhabit parts of the state the ruling class would rather not lose sleep over, except at the time of election or re-election.

    Highway communities like Owode Ijako, Owode Iyana Ilogbo, Ewekoro, Lafenwa, Iyana Iyesi, and Itele are mired in misery, their hopes for development dashed by neglect. The recent outcry from residents of Ijere, Pakuro, Magbon, and other communities in the Obafemi-Owode Local Government Area over the deplorable state of their roads echoes across the state. They yearn for the basic infrastructure that remains a distant dream.

    Now in his second term, Governor Abiodun must resist the hubristic complacency that often plagues re-elected leaders. This is not the time for regal indifference. He must transcend the chorus of sycophantic aides and confront the stark reality of Ogun’s infrastructural failures lest his inaction and mistakes deny him of an enduring legacy.

    Save an empty promise made by Abiodun in the early days of his administration that he and his Lagos State counterpart, Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu, had gotten approval from the federal government to repair the highway and earn a toll from it; nothing has been done to rehabilitate the treacherous stretch.

    Abiodun must learn from the failure of his predecessor, Ibikunle Amosun, who neglected the dangerous state of the Lagos-Ibadan highway simply because it was a federal road. The world would never forget in a hurry the poor, helpless souls that thrashed out and gave their final gasps in grotesque, bloody accidents on the road on Amosun’s watch.

    Omolade Ogunnoiki, 17, was a 100 Level History student at Olabisi Onabanjo University (O.O.U.). Together with her friend, Funmilayo Pampam, 18, and Olatunji Dairo, a 2014 Physics graduate of O.O.U., she was crushed to death when a truck carrying an unlatched container and their Lagos-bound passenger bus on the Ilishan- Sagamu highway in Ogun State.

    In a bid to avoid inadequate portions on the road, the driver of the truck reportedly drove against the traffic until its container fell off its hinges, crushing the students, the bus driver and nine other undergraduates to death. The deceased probably nursed dreams of greatness. Those dreams lie six feet under red earth now.

    On Monday, July 1, Governor Abiodun trended on the social media platform X (formerly Twitter) for his inability to rid Ogun of bad roads. Images of the state’s derelict roads flooded timelines, accompanied by scathing critiques of Abiodun’s broken promises. One poignant post read: “In 2020, when Dapo Abiodun was looking for votes, he said to us on X that he was fixing a few roads listed in his tweets. Here is the condition of some of the roads in his tweet. He fix am abi him no fix am? I will allow you to judge.”

    On the night of Tuesday, July 2, social media and major news sites buzzed with the outrage of citizens over the abduction of about 20 commuters on the Sagamu-Ijebu-Ode highway. In the grim episode, gunmen abducted three Indian nationals and several Nigerian travellers, exploiting the road’s dilapidated state to execute their crime. Such incidents are not isolated; kidnappers lurk around Ogun’s crumbling highways, preying on innocent travellers. The governor’s recent call for security operatives to hunt these criminals is commendable, but the root cause—deplorable infrastructure—remains unaddressed.

    This writer harbours no personal resentment for Governor Abiodun but holds an unwavering desire to see him rise to the occasion. Hence, exuberant ‘influencers’ and apologists of the state governor may digest this cautiously; would they defend him unquestioningly if they had lost their loved ones on Ogun’s bad roads?

    Nonetheless, fanatical apologists would argue that Abiodun has done right by Ogun State. Anthony Storr, a late British writer and psychiatrist, would term this one of the many delusions that render the continual neglect of the state’s highways and dirt roads justifiable for Abiodun’s zealots and, as such, defensible against admonishment and reason.

    People are dying on Ogun roads. It’s about time Governor Abiodun heeded the cries of his constituents. If he were the people’s messiah, he wouldn’t ignore the death traps on Ijoko, Agoro, Ijako, Iyana-Ilogbo, Ilepa, Lafenwa and Itele roads. He would stop ignoring the bloody ravines dotting Alade, Elekunmefa, Imise, Onihale, Singer, and Iju, to mention a few. At Toll-gate junction, Joju, Temidire, and environ, mucky pools still stagnate in perilous craters along the bypasses because these scenes of deadly accidents are inconsequential to Governor Abiodun.

    This is not just about infrastructure; it is about the lives and livelihoods of his people. Perhaps Governor Abiodun would answer as the humane, proactive administrator he professes to be and save commuters in Ogun State from untimely death.

  • These little boys may die young

    These little boys may die young

    It’s sixty-seven days since a boulder hurtled down the ancient Dukku Hills of Kebbi, killing eight underage boys. Muhammad Bawando, Musa Kambaza, Dan-sayyada Kambaza, Abu Takai, Nasir Cheferu, Barmo Babanda, Kalije Bawanda, and Yakubu Aminu – eight almajirai who went to the mountains to dig for clay.

    On Saturday, April 20, 2024, each shovel of dirt brought them closer to their goal; their hands stained with the rich, red earth, they shared dreams of new walls, sturdy roofs, and the warmth of a hut they could call their home.

    But fate had a cruel twist in store. High above, perched precariously on the edge of the quarry, a massive boulder teetered on the brink of disaster. Unseen and unheard, it waited, biding its time until the moment was ripe.

    And then, with a deafening roar, the earth shook as the boulder broke free, hurtling down the steep incline with unstoppable force. The boys barely had time to register the impending doom before the boulder crashed down, trapping them 10 metres beneath its weight.

    Dust and debris filled the air as their screams pierced the silence, desperate cries for help that went unanswered. Surrounded by throttling darkness, their voices faded to whispers, in the darkness of their tomb. Nobody heard their dying cries. Nobody saw them writhe and resign to their final fate. That fateful afternoon, the blazing sun belched irrepressible misery and death as the corpses of the eight pupils of the Malam Dan-Umma Qur’anic School at Bayan Science, Badariya, Birnin Kebbi Local Government Area (LGA) of Kebbi State were exhumed from the rubble.

    Echoes of their grisly demise still reverberate through the arid streets of Kebbi, and northern Nigeria, where many more minors are perishing in silence.

    These children, entrusted to the care of itinerant malams, languish in a world that seems to have forgotten them, their fragile lives hanging by a thread in a society that watches with cold indifference.

    The almajiri system, once a noble endeavor rooted in the quest for knowledge, has been sullied by corruption and neglect. It was intended to be a beacon of learning and spiritual growth, but over time, it has become a grotesque parody of its original purpose. In the alleys and byways of northern Nigeria, the almajiri boys are a living testament to a broken dream, their lives overshadowed by destitution and despair.

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    The rich, with their gilded gates and lush gardens, seldom consign their progeny to such a grotesque existence. Instead, they shield their children from the harsh realities of the world, while the poor are left to cling to the tattered remnants of a system that has long ceased to serve their interests.

    For the impoverished, the almajiri system offers a semblance of hope, a chance for their children to receive an education and perhaps a better life. But this hope is often illusory, a cruel mirage that fades with the rising sun.

    The boys, separated from their families, are denied the warmth of parental love and the comfort of a stable home. They wander the streets, begging for alms, their dreams withering in the harsh glare of reality. It is a heart-wrenching sight, indeed; a social crisis unfolding in plain view, yet met with averted eyes and muted indifference.

    The question that looms large is what the governments of Kebbi and other northern states are doing to address this conundrum. The death of those eight boys should have spurred decisive action. Instead, it has become yet another statistic in a long litany of tragedies.

    The Kebbi State government’s Almajiri Integrated Education scheme is not the first feeble initiative addressing the challenges of the almajiri system. In April 2012, former President Goodluck Jonathan launched the Almajiri Integrated Model School (AIMS) initiative through the Universal Basic Education Commission seeking to integrate Qur’anic schools with modern curricula and skill-based education, targeting the 13.2 million out-of-school children in northern Nigeria. It provided stationery, lunch, uniforms and classroom facilities. But despite spending about N15 billion to establish 400 Almajiri model schools and rebuild 36 schools across 19 northern states and Edo, enrollment and attendance rates remained low due to various issues, including the sustained apathy from parents and the students. Additionally, lack of funding from state governments led to many schools falling into disrepair and students returning to street begging.

    Islam prescribes that the primary legal and moral duty of parents is to take care of the welfare of their children, to provide them with food, shelter, security, health, and education. Parents are also instructed to instill morals into their wards, to the best of their abilities.

    Thus, memorising the Qur’an, which is largely what an almajiri does, is a desirable (mustahab) act. It is not compulsory for every Muslim, though it is encouraged, but because of bandwagon following (and of course poverty), most parents would rather trade their compulsory duty (wajib) for a desirable one (mustahab).

    It is a moral imperative for parents, guardians, civil society, and the government to break the cycle of neglect and indifference. To ignore the plight of these boys is to condemn them to a life of unending drudgery and hopelessness. They are not mere statistics; they are children with dreams, aspirations, and the potential to contribute meaningfully to society. To forsake them is to forsake our collective humanity.

    The almajiri system, in its corrupted state, is a glaring symbol of society’s failure to protect our children. It is a festering wound that must be healed, not with palliatives and platitudes, but with genuine, sustained efforts to reform and rehabilitate.

    A recent study, conducted in 137 villages across Kano and Kaduna, revealed that half of the boys who enter the almajiri system die, with 17 percent surviving and 33 percent getting lost, some of whom also die. The research was conducted by a team from four universities: Funom Theophilus Makama (University of Leicester, UK), Esther Funom Makama (University of Maiduguri, Borno State), Peter Maitalata Waziri (Kaduna State University), and Attahiru Dan-Ali Mustapha (Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria). They found that the harsh conditions and forced begging make these boys vulnerable to violence, hunger, infections, and child predators, significantly reducing their chances of reaching adulthood, with many dying before age 16. They concluded that for every six boys enrolled, three die, one survives, and two go missing. Any system causing such high child mortality and loss is intolerable, regardless of its cultural or religious significance.

    Good governance is at the heart of the solution. Several measures including firmer enforcement of anti-trafficking laws protective of minors and bio-data tracking have been suggested to curb the menace. Government must, however, employ diplomacy while enforcing extant laws, and create the necessary environment to foster a reformed and more purposive integrated education system. Parents must also accept to play their part by having only the number of children they can cater for.

    In the wake of the demise of the Kebbi eight, the state governor, Nasir Idris, sent a delegation to condole with the boys’ families, and donated N20 million naira to the bereaved.

    But can N20 million bring back eight promising boys, teeming with life? Is it a worthy consolation to the bereaved families of Muhammad Bawando, Musa Kambaza, Dan-sayyada Kambaza, Abu Takai, Nasir Cheferu, Barmo Babanda, Kalije Bawanda, and Yakubu Aminu?

    Can the money revive their boyish chants, where dreams of home are shaped from earth? Can it reignite their heartfelt quest for warmth and delicate balance atop the shifting sands of fate?

  • Beyond N40b theft of depositors’ money

    Beyond N40b theft of depositors’ money

    Good banking grows dreams, businesses, countries. It nurtures individuals and families. Ultimately, it suckles the future from the tits of the present. But bad banking manifests gruesomely, like a viral disease. Sometimes, it strikes like a pandemic, as was the case with modern Greece.

    Oftentimes, it sprouts as inflamed tumours, much like the infestation of a first-generation bank. It could be an uphill battle stifling the human hankering to spout off and be seen over a grievous crime, like the theft of N40 billion depositors’ money by a management staff of the bank.

    Few days after a close friend and confidant counseled me to send my Curriculum Vitae (CV) and a cover letter for the post of an image maker with one of the big banks, it is safe to say I may be ill-suited for such employ.

    This realisation manifests in the wake of the disclosure of the atrocity committed by the staff of the bank. It’s in my nature to censure not downplay such. Conceited, am I?

    In an era when digital sophistication subsists as the hallmark of any reputable financial institution, the first-generation bank manager brazenly mauled it into a grotesque affliction of modern banking. The recent revelation of a staggering N40 billion alleged theft by one of its own—the erstwhile manager of the electronic products team – is not just a scandal; it’s a damning indictment of the bank’s rotten system.

    The culprit, who handled transfer reversals, allegedly abused his position by diverting funds into a commercial bank account owned by his wife. Over two years, he funneled money through 1,190 accounts, splurging some of it on cryptocurrency.

    This gross misappropriation only came to light when a persistent customer refused to let go of an unresolved reversal. As we speak, the culprit and his accomplice have reportedly vanished, leaving a trail of financial ruin in their wake.

    The irony here is richer than a croissant at a French patisserie. The affected bank, zzwhich prides itself as a legacy institution, and the bedrock of Nigerian banking, failed to notice a colossal fraud happening right under its nose. For a bank whose executives routinely trained at Ivy League institutions at home and abroad, their failure to detect and prevent such a massive fraud borders on criminal negligence and incompetence.

    The N40 billion theft is not an isolated incident but a symptom of a larger malaise. It’s a stark reminder that banks have become the antithesis of the trust they are supposed to embody. If a supposedly conservative and ethical institution like the bank can be compromised so thoroughly, what hope is there for the rest?

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    This scandal underscores the harsh reality that entrusting your money to a Nigerian bank today is akin to handing it over to a well-dressed bandit.

    The rot is systemic, and the consequences are dire, particularly for the poor and the struggling middle class. These are the individuals who form the bulk of the banks’ clientele and are the most vulnerable to such financial atrocities. They are the ones whose hard-earned savings are siphoned off to feed the insatiable greed of those who are supposed to safeguard their financial future. The audacity of this crime, committed in the heart of the bank’s operations in Lagos, reveals an organisational failure of epic proportions.

    Moreover, Nigerian banks have perfected the art of robbing poor and struggling depositors to feed the vanities of rich billionaire cronies of bank directors. For individuals and Micro, Small, and Medium Enterprises (MSMEs), getting a bank loan is akin to scaling Mount Everest without oxygen. The process is torturous, the requirements draconian, and the likelihood of approval dismally low.

    Yet, dubious characters with the right connections are plied with unearned and unjustifiable access to outrageous loans. These loans, often running into billions of naira, are the product of underhand dealings and sharp practices between the loan recipients and their cronies in the bank’s boardroom who pocket kickbacks.

    Insiders within the banking sector have revealed a sordid picture: whenever billions of naira are given out as loans, it is almost always a result of shady deals. These loans are rarely repaid and are often written off as bad debts, further enriching the billionaire cronies at the expense of the public. The banks hardly care because when they are on the brink of bankruptcy, they are often bailed out by government facilities. The Nigerian Deposit Insurance Commission (NDIC) steps in to repay depositors’ funds, effectively socialising the losses while the profits remain privatised.

    It’s not just the reported N40 billion; one shudders to think of the amount that has been stolen quietly, without a trace. This incident raises uncomfortable questions about the integrity of the entire Nigerian banking system. How many more crooks are lurking in the shadows, exploiting loopholes and circumventing oversight to line their pockets at the expense of the unsuspecting public?

    This crisis further establishes that banking should never be left solely in the hands of bankers, who have repeatedly proven to be nothing more than glorified cheats. Finance, as we have seen, is too important to be left to the financiers. We need a system of checks and balances that includes robust external oversight, transparency, and accountability.

    Reflecting on this, I recall a conversation with a colleague who works in a commercial bank. During one of his grandstanding episodes on media practice, he argued that journalism should never be left to journalists. Instead, he suggested that accountants or administrative gurus should run media houses. This curious character, in his fit of professional elitism, failed to see the irony in his argument. Here he was, a banker, suggesting that journalists cannot manage their own affairs, while his own industry was in the throes of a massive scandal that had yet again highlighted their incompetence and corruption.

    This duplicity is astounding. Bankers, who are supposedly the custodians of our financial security, have no moral high ground to question the competence of other professions. Their inability to run their own operations ethically and efficiently, disqualifies them from casting aspersions on others. The sheer scale of the N40 billion fraud, happening at the heart of one of Nigeria’s oldest and most reputed banks, is a stark reminder of the profound structural issues that plague the industry.

    The bank’s management has exhibited financial recklessness and a lack of fiscal intelligence, much like several other banks’ executive boards. Therefore, urgent attention from the CBN and EFCC is needed to monitor activities in local banks’ boardrooms. They should implement a rigorous vetting process for prospective bank directors, including a mandatory six-month boot camp focused on fiscal responsibility, corporate governance, and ethical behaviour. Licenses should be issued to successful graduates to ensure accountability and should be revocable at their misconduct.

    Despite their supposed intelligence, bankers have caused the bankruptcy of about 52 Nigerian banks while benefiting from government interventions. Such criminal behaviour can no longer be condoned.

    Having an Ivy League education or impressive credentials is no excuse for defrauding depositors and the nation.

    Nigerian banks have a lot of house cleaning to do. The time has come for a revolution in the way we think about banking and financial management.

    The protection of the public’s hard-earned money cannot be left to institutions that have shown time and again that they cannot be trusted. In the final analysis, keeping money in a Nigerian bank today feels less like a prudent financial decision and more like entrusting your livelihood to a cunning bandit.

  • Between ruin and rebirth

    Between ruin and rebirth

    The earth is littered with the bones of potentates who believed they were eternal. History never forgets their renown or ruin. Let this guide every Nigerian in public office. No matter how highly placed or conceited they are, fate eventually halts their pompous strides and yanks the rug from beneath their pretentious ideals.

    Fresh from its commemoration of the democracy day, yesterday, June 12, the country’s leadership must reexamine its commitment to the continuance and survival of the Nigerian project.

    There is no gainsaying the prevailing economic hardships counseled a low-key celebration, with sober recall of the ultimate sacrifice by slain democracy hero, magnate and philanthropist, Late Moshood Abiola, the acclaimed winner of the June 12, 1993 elections.

    Through Nigeria’s sober recall, it is pertinent to ask if this is the country for which Abiola and other June 12 heroes gave their lives. Is this the country for which our founding fathers shed sweat and blood? From insecurity, economic distress and the baleful shadow of indefinite strike, Nigeria has a lot to contend with.

    The Joe Ajaero-led labour union’s threat to declare indefinite strike, if the federal government rejects its demand for a N250,000 minimum wage, certainly triggered the social space with a plethora of issues.

    Of paramount significance is Nigeria’s troubling expenditure on the remuneration of its public officers. Soon after the 36 state governors rejected the labour union’s demand claiming none of them could afford any minimum wage beyond N60,000, Nigerians have been bashing them in physical and virtual space, insisting that if that be the case, public officers too, must be placed on the N60,000 minimum wage.

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    Of course, it need be acknowledged that barely 10 states can comfortably afford the current N30,000 minimum wage let alone the N60,000 and N250,000 wage suggestions. Yet the country’s public officers draw outrageous remuneration that constrain the country’s purse.

    In the hallowed chambers of the Nigerian legislature, for instance, a cruel irony unfolds daily as lawmakers luxuriate in opulence while the very populace they serve languish in abject deprivation. This obscene dichotomy between public servants and the citizenry demands immediate and decisive action.

    The federal government and the National Assembly must act in unison to reduce the astronomical cost of governance, for the current profligacy is both unsustainable and morally indefensible.

    The bicameral legislature, a relic of an era that imagined endless bounty, is an anachronism in today’s Nigeria. The maintenance of a Senate and House of Representatives, with their attendant expenses, is no longer a luxury we can afford.

    In 2024 alone, Nigeria is spending about N724 billion on its National Assembly and 36 State Assemblies. This includes N50 billion for salaries and allowances of lawmakers at both federal and state levels, N294.7 billion specifically for the National Assembly and related bodies, and N379.28 billion for the state assemblies.

    This renders futile, the former Senate President, Ahmed Lawan’s previous argument, the monthly salary of a senator is N1.5m, while that of a member of the House of Representatives is N1.3m, stressing that the alleged N13.5m monthly salary was actually their quarterly office running allowance.

    Recent findings revealed that the Nigerian Senate President actually receives N2.48 million as basic salary while other senators receive N2.26m monthly. Even so, the quarterly office allowance (running cost) for a senator amounts to N52m per annum, while the N8m for a member of the House of Representatives amounts to N32m in a year.

    Switching to a unicameral or single-house legislature at the federal level could lead to substantial savings. Let’s assume we keep the House of Representatives, which has more members. By removing the Senate, we could save about N8.67 billion in legislative salaries and allowances. Moreover, the Senate’s operating costs amount to about N49.14 billion. If we cut overlapping functions and streamline operations, we could save around N50 billion more.

    Another way to cut costs is to make lawmakers part-time and pay them only for the days they actually work. This could cut another 30-40% of the remaining costs, because we wouldn’t be paying regular salaries and many allowances. This approach not only saves money but also incentivises productivity, accountability, and efficiency among lawmakers.

    Nigeria could save around N250 billion every year. This money could be redirected towards improving healthcare, education, and infrastructure.

    This is a pragmatic approach to governance reform that aligns with the country’s economic realities and developmental goals.

    It is never enough to funnel palliatives and incentives to mitigate economic distress. Democracy does not naturally spring forth from the soil of free markets. It must be grounded not in personal gain but in self-sacrifice. A healthy democracy must frequently challenge the economic interests of the elites for the benefit of the people. Yet government officials and corporate actors address the economic crisis by funneling funds and resources into the financial sector because they are conditioned to maintain and manage the existing system rather than transform it.

    Saul observes that the initial objectives of the corporatist movements in 1920s Germany, Italy, and France, which later evolved into fascism, were to transfer power directly to economic and social interest groups, to foster entrepreneurial endeavours in domains traditionally governed by public institutions. And to erase the distinction between public and private interests thereby undermining the concept of the common good. The resonance with our current situation is unsettlingly clear.

    Nigeria’s economic unraveling, exacerbated by speculative commercial interests draining the national treasury, has plunged the working class into unprecedented despair. Crime, a natural corollary of economic distress, escalates daily. Yet, it is not the insurgents or bandits who pose the greatest threat; it is the corrupt civil servants and the money-guzzling legislators, alongside complicit ministers and governors, who undermine the state’s stability.

    President Bola Tinubu must recognise the gravity of the economic despair and respond with a governance ethos grounded in transparency and compassion. No matter what his advisers might counsel, dismissing the miseries of the masses with the platitude “the end justifies the means” could seem prejudiced and perilous.

    Every presidential expenditure, regardless of its justifications, must avoid ostentation and disconnect to a populace burdened by stringent economic policies. Even certifiably modest expenditures are susceptible to misinterpretation and will only amplify public discontent.

    The President and his cabinet must exhibit a greater degree of empathy and responsiveness to the people’s plight. His ministers must temper their public statements with restraint and tact, in recognition of the fragile social fabric and potential for incendiary rhetoric to ignite unrest.

    The political class must understand that the rage brewing within the disenfranchised working class forebodes a dangerous backlash. My visits across Nigeria have revealed former manufacturing towns now ghostly remnants of their prosperous past, their residents engulfed in gloom.

    This pervasive hopelessness drives many into the arms of demagogues and charlatans, who peddle utopian fantasies to a desperate populace.

    Unless we swiftly re-enfranchise these workers and provide tangible hope, our democracy teeters on the brink of collapse.

    We cannot continue as a nation of victims, where the citizenry curses their luck and public officers eternally point fingers at predecessors and circumstances.

    It is incumbent upon us to seize control of our destiny, to implement necessary reforms with urgency and conviction. The federal government and the National Assembly must work together to reduce the cost of governance, transitioning to a unicameral legislature and part-time legislative roles. Only through such measures can we hope to restore trust, alleviate the people’s suffering, and stave off the impending crisis that threatens our nation’s very foundation.

  • Angry Joe and his motley mob

    Angry Joe and his motley mob

    Anarchy wears two faces, both creator and destroyer. Joe Ajaero, the current leader of the Nigerian Labour Congress (NLC), embodies both. Through his actions, he topples established norms, creating a canvas of muck and rubble from which he seeks to spirit out Eden – the same way, a magician pulls a rabbit from his hat.

    Amid his professed passion to improve workers’ plight, the means of negotiation is rancorous, and overshadowed by avoidable suffering of the workers he claims to protect.

    Ajaero renders the collective aspiration of Nigerian workers to earn a decent minimum wage, a pitiful hostage to his flawed tactics and personal demons. His desperation to lead the labour union on another industrial strike during wage negotiations with the government severely hampers the NLC and Trade Union Congress (TUC)’s bid to renegotiate a realistic minimum wage for workers.

    The labour union’s reckless decision to cut off electricity supply, plunged the country into darkness including crucial sectors like aviation and health thus endangering lives. It also affected both big and small business owners, particularly society’s vulnerable divide, like the struggling grocer whose livelihood depends on selling perishable goods.

    More damning are the allegations that the labour union’s monitoring and compliance team swooped on electricity workers, like goons, beating and forcing them to shut down the national grid – a claim Ajaero has since denied.

    Despite his denial, the spectacle of labour leaders wielding canes to beat and chase staff of the Federal Inland Revenue Service (FIRS) out of their offices undermines the credibility and moral authority of the labour movement. Such thuggery betrays the principles of democratic advocacy, painting Ajaero and his followers as anarchists rather than champions of workers’ rights. Their actions disrupt daily life and erodes the trust and support of the common man.

    If Ajaero orders a resumption of strike action in the coming days, the negative impacts on Nigerians will be severe and far-reaching. The first and most immediate effect would be an intensification of fuel scarcity. This scarcity would disrupt transportation and cripple the operations of businesses and services reliant on fuel for power generation.

    The country, already struggling with intermittent power supply, would be cast into complete darkness. The blackout would affect hospitals, schools, and businesses, further deteriorating the quality of life and stifling economic activity.

    Crime rates would escalate as frustration and desperation grow. In times of severe hardship, individuals who struggle to meet their basic needs are more prone to resorting to criminal activities. The combination of darkness and economic stagnation would create a perfect storm for lawlessness, making it increasingly difficult for security forces to maintain order.

    The impact on the informal economy, which millions of Nigerians depend on for their daily sustenance, would be devastating. Petty traders, whose livelihoods depend on a thriving daily enterprise, would suffer immensely. The informal economy, characterised by commercial transport, neighbourhood grocery sales, and other fringe livelihoods, rely on a steady flow of goods and customers.

    An indefinite strike would disrupt this delicate balance, leading to a significant loss of income for those who are already living hand-to-mouth. Frustration would spread and escalate, creating an atmosphere of widespread discontent and instability.

    This scenario might well be the script the Ajaero-led labour union is acting out. Ajaero’s partisan entanglements with the Labour Party (LP) and fervent support for its candidate, Peter Obi, during the 2023 elections, indicate a deep-seated political bias. His relentless attacks on the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) and his unsubstantiated claims of electoral fraud further expose his partisan agenda.

    His actions during the governorship election in Imo state, where he attempted to instigate a strike on the eve of the election, further illustrate his political machinations.

    Ajaero’s behaviour mirrors that of an actor playing out a script handed to him by vengeful cohorts, still nursing the wounds of their electoral loss. His tactics—strikes, violence, and intimidation—reveal a thuggish approach, more befitting a street-level enforcer than a national labor leader. The narrative he crafts, of a besieged patriot fighting for justice, crumbles under the weight of his own actions.

    The recent demand for a N494,000 minimum wage smacks of childish insolence and a profound disconnect from reality. This exorbitant figure starkly contrasts with the economic capabilities of several Nigerian states, many of which struggle to pay the current N30,000 minimum wage.

    The labour union’s resort to industrial strike, nonetheless, addresses the sad reality of the federal minimum wage. The request for an increase of the minimum wage from N30,000 ($22.4) to N494,000 naira ($369.6) represents a 1,547% increase vis-à-vis the government’s proposed 100% increase to N60,000 ($44.89), which the unions rejected.

    Yet, it’s nothing but sheer grandstanding for the incumbent government to label the labour union’s demands as unrealistic while public officers luxuriate in vulgar opulence. Nigerian lawmakers, who are among the highest paid in the world, earn about N13.5 million monthlies in allowances, excluding their base salary. Governors and their deputies enjoy similarly lavish salaries and pensions, with some states guaranteeing life-long benefits that are nothing short of abominable. The executive also draws substantial salaries and benefits, further draining the public treasury.

    If Ajaero had channeled his energies towards mobilising the labour unions to compel government to slash public officers’ outrageous benefits and curb their egregious looting of public funds, his stance might have been defensible.

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    On his watch, the labour unions could have pushed for legislative work to become a part-time job, where lawmakers receive allowances only for actual sittings, thereby reducing the financial burden on the state. Such measures would resonate with the populace and demonstrate a genuine commitment to fiscal responsibility and governance reform.

    By pushing for strike in the midst of ongoing negotiations, Ajaero undermines the potential for constructive dialogue and resolution. Instead of advocating for sustainable and pragmatic solutions, his tactics risk plunging the country into deeper crisis.

    Contrary to popular belief, Ajaero and other labour leaders do not share the everyday struggles of the people. They are more insulated from the skyrocketing inflation; their pantries are well-stocked, and their bank accounts are brimming with patronage and cash. The ongoing negotiation is merely another meal ticket for its leaders.

    The current crisis, however, should spur public officers to aspire to more humane and patriotic representation of the interests of the masses. It is cruel and self-serving to expect the citizenry to endure hardship fostered by selfish, desperate, and impractical leadership while those in power indulge in lavishness.

    No degree of sophistry or rationalisation by paid courtiers in the media and civil society can justify such cruelty. The stark reality is that millions of Nigerians struggle to access basic necessities like food, water, and shelter, while their elected representatives live in luxury and excess. This glaring disparity in wealth and privilege underscores the need for systemic change and accountability within the government.

    Nigeria faces numerous economic challenges, including the devaluation of its currency to record lows in recent months and a cost-of-living crisis marked by soaring prices for food, transport, and healthcare. With inflation at 33.69%, the highest in nearly three decades, the current wage is atrociously low.

    However, the labour unions’ proposed wage increase would have severe economic consequences, including significantly higher inflation, hyper-inflated food prices, school fees, and unavoidable mass retrenchment by public and private enterprises unable to afford the wage increase.

    While the grievances of the labour unions are valid, the path to resolution must be carefully managed to avoid worsening the very conditions they seek to enhance.

  • Renewed Hope: Megacities thrive by native valleys

    Renewed Hope: Megacities thrive by native valleys

    It’s one year since President Bola Tinubu emerged as a herald of ‘Renewed Hope,’ yet the Nigerian city flourishes by a rural and dubious sweep. On Tinubu’s watch, the land that nourishes should never paw us rough with anguish.

    To achieve his agricultural rejuvenation goals, President Tinubu must ensure that his team and tools, unlike Thel’s worms, aren’t pathogens miming his curative green mantra.

    Highlighting his administration’s first-year achievements, Tinubu showcased efforts to boost agriculture and food security. Key initiatives include the launch of the National Agricultural Development Fund (NADF) with N100 billion to tackle agricultural financing challenges.

    However, the President must establish a reliable evaluation system to ensure effective policy implementation. For example, it’s unclear if the 42,000 metric tonnes of grains and 60,000 metric tonnes of rice distributed to “vulnerable Nigerians” actually reached the intended recipients. Any sabotage undermines the goal of stabilising the food supply.

    The Central Bank’s donation of 2.15 million bags of fertilizer worth N100 billion raises questions about the true beneficiaries. Similarly, the Dry Season Farming Initiative, funded by the African Development Bank with $134 million, aims to promote year-round farming on 500,000 hectares. Yet, who are the real beneficiaries?

    President Tinubu must closely monitor partnerships, such as the one with John Deere to supply 2,000 tractors annually, supported by low-interest loans from the Bank of Agriculture. Additionally, the $1 billion Green Imperative Programme with Brazil and a N141 billion credit facility from a Japanese agency aim to provide farmers with machines, equipment, and training.

    The critical question remains: who benefits from these schemes? Are they reaching the intended farmers, or are they being hijacked by political aides and influential figures? Ensuring a transparent process is essential for supporting the farming middle class, peasant farmers, and the unemployed.

    It is essential for rejuvenating Nigeria’s industrial, megacities. Right now, our cities deify baubles and digital enlightenment, which are superfluous to the country. This is why social life and commerce get grounded in the heat of a crisis. At the coronavirus outbreak, for instance, economic activities in most cities got grounded. It was as if the metropolis and the wheels of industry didn’t matter.

    Before the advent of big tech; before our cash crops and wildflowers got decimated by murderous herdsmen and their ruck; before pastoral farms frothed with pesticides and fishes floated belly-up in Ewekoro and the oil creeks in Niger Delta, we grew what we ate.

    Cities don’t produce food. They depend on the countryside to provide it. Save their food distribution systems, cities can quarantine, shut in, and shut down, so long as the countryside doesn’t.

    A deeper look at our fate through the pandemic revealed how worthless the Nigerian city is, with its parade of glitz and chug-chug of industry. But for the country’s agricultural economy, Nigeria would starve.

    President Tinubu’s agricultural policy must manifest beyond passionate pronouncements and gazetted intent. The wellspring of wealth is agrarian surplus, the ability to feed more than one with the labour of one. Agricultural surplus built the groundnut pyramids of the north and the cocoa plantations of the southwest.

    Nigeria was a leading agricultural economy in the 1950s, being the largest producer of palm oil, groundnut, cotton, and cocoa globally. The sector employed over 70 per cent of the labour force and accounted for as much as 62.3 per cent of the nation’s foreign exchange earnings.

    Over the last four decades, however, the yield of most key crops has declined, in particular, cassava, cocoa beans and wheat – a reflection of low utilisation of improved seedlings, agrochemicals and poor adoption of technology, according to a recent Price Water House report.

    For most key crops, Nigeria’s share of global production has remained low. However, the rate of consumption has outstripped production. The deficit has been met largely by importation, making the country a net importer.

    On average, between 2011 and 2015, N1.4 trillion has been spent on food imports with wheat, milk, rice, sugar and malt extract, constituting the bulk of Nigeria’s food import bill.

    Between 2016 and 2019, Nigeria’s cumulative agricultural imports stood at N3.35 trillion, four times higher than the agricultural export of N803 billion within the same period.

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    These challenges have stifled agricultural productivity, affecting the sector’s contribution to the country’s GDP. It has also led to increased food imports amid skyrocketing population and declining levels of food sufficiency.

    Of its 92.4 million hectares, Nigeria boasts 82.0 million hectares of arable land; so far, just 34 million hectares of it have been cultivated. With population explosion and the government’s renewed drive to boost food security, agriculture has become increasingly crucial to our survival as a nation.

    Understandably, former President Muhammadu Buhari sought to revivify the country’s agricultural economy but the country’s fixation with oil rendered her a whited sepulchre, sullied by wastefulness and vice, the soot that will not out.

    Nigeria needs agriculture. Agriculture employs about 70 percent of the country’s population thus it can be used to drive sustainable growth prospects through a value chain that turns raw commodities into processed goods for domestic consumption or export.

    President Tinubu must fund the diversification of agriculture to make it more appealing to a vast youth population that is spiritless about farming but might be attracted to processing, marketing, and other business opportunities along the value chain.

    The food emergency in northeast and northwest Nigeria brought on by the Boko Haram insurgency, banditry, infrastructure deficits, and the government’s response to them emphasises the need to expand the agricultural sector to guarantee food security and nutrition.

    Until then, the Nigerian city will subsist as a plague; it is diseased because its sensuality is both morbid and commercial. Its hidden graces unclad, like the proverbial harlot, self-exiled from the village but always returning under cover of night to stalk and prey on the countryside.

    The Nigerian city does too little for the countryside. Knowing this, President Tinubu announced his decision to resurrect the country by endowing its agricultural economy with remarkable fillips.

    Tinubu must understand that his government cannot achieve agricultural boon simply by pronouncing passion to resources. He must thoroughly examine if resources are pronounced to his passion.

    While the rationale for prioritising agriculture is sound, many reforms will have to be enacted if the sector is to flourish. These reforms must also include measures to save rural Nigeria with the sheen continually sponged off its greenery by the city.

    It was hay that allowed populations to grow and civilizations to flourish among the forests of Northern Europe. Hay moved the greatness of Rome to Paris and London, and later to Berlin and Moscow and New York, writes Dyson.

    Hay was responsible for Nigeria’s first brush with economic glory. Between 1962 and 1968, Nigeria’s major foreign exchange earner was the agricultural sector where palm oil and groundnut made up around 47 per cent of the country’s exports. However, Nigeria’s position as an agricultural powerhouse declined through its oil boom.

    Caught between the womb walls of the crude oil creeks and digital tech, Nigeria lives imprisoned in starvation’s bower. Yet the government recites fantastic stories of agricultural rebirth thus rejecting the strife of contraries by which Nigeria convulses.

    At the outbreak of COVID-19, our storied artifice collapsed in hysterical retreat as the country leapt from its tinseled perch and dashed, shrieking back to its native valleys.

    What was hitherto regarded as an underprivileged fetish and peasant preserve became our major source of sustenance and rebirth. Nigeria weeps but does not recognise her tears.

  • Because we dress our bandits as urban legends

    Because we dress our bandits as urban legends

    There is a reason eggheads seldom acquire political power. Intellectuals, artists, revolutionaries, and pacifists rarely become potentates because they are cast in the mould of Castiglione’s courtiers or the proverbial whore of Babylon. Perhaps the fault is in their stars.

    Some assume elevated significance, often hard-earned through enterprise, scholarship, professional excellence and repute. Think academics, journalists, entertainers, technocrats, clerics, among others – this breed cut the perfect portrait of the mind’s glory astride fields of grit. Yet they would find that intellect and repute are never enough without the courage to defy institutionalised fraudulence.

    In Nigeria, eggheads sprout and flower as the mystical rose of the mire; by their devices, our chaste, walled garden is made unchaste by brutes wielding unmerited power, like the plundered bower of the country brothel.

    Several intellectuals parade flawed presence because they assert unreal persona and moral substance, most of the time. Thus they are open and acquiescent to the seductive whisper of the crooked.

    The process of co-option is often subtle. For instance, public officers and corporate magnates, well-versed in the art of influence, employ a combination of material inducements, flattery and intimidation to bend journalists to their will. Invitations to exclusive events, private dinners, and off-the-record briefings serve to create a sense of camaraderie and indebtedness. Journalists who once prided independence find their judgment seduced and beclouded.

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    This dynamic is particularly evident in the creation of WhatsApp groups—a modern tool that should ideally foster transparent communication and accountability. Instead, it has become a platform for manipulation. Some journalists, in a misguided attempt to maintain access and foster relationships, create these groups and add public officers to them. The result is an environment where public officers can monitor discussions, stifle dissent, and shape narratives to their advantage.

    This is not to say that all such fora are manipulable by shady elements. I have been a part of two or three platforms where journalists hurl bitter truth in the face of public officers and corporate spokespersons in the fold – as it is randomly done in very few fora like The Lagos Times (TLT). This occurs, barring the excessive obsequiousness of a few fawning characters, of course.

    The power dynamics across several digital fora are starkly lopsided. Public officers and corporate spokespersons do not reciprocate the gesture; they do not add journalists to their WhatsApp groups within the corridors of power and the corporate boardroom. This one-way inclusion serves as a constant reminder of the imbalance, subtly reinforcing the journalists’ subservient role. Any journalist who dares to express a damning opinion about a public officer or image maker within these groups risks not only professional ostracism but also potential retribution.

    The implications of this are profound. Journalists, aware of the lurking eyes of power in their midst, often self-censor to avoid conflict. This self-censorship erodes the quality of editorial commentary, investigative journalism, and news reportage thus transforming what should be a robust and critical press into a compliant and toothless entity.

    The consequences of this courtship extend beyond individual journalists. The broader impact on press freedom and ethical journalism is alarming. When journalists fail to perform their role as watchdogs, corruption thrives unchecked, and the public’s trust in the media deteriorates. The press, once a bastion of truth and accountability, becomes a mere echo chamber for those in power.

    Between their flawed persona and lack of moral substance rids them of grit. Ultimately, they play errand dog and court sycophant to the President, governors, lawmakers, and even the mob of angry youths. They can be likened to the celebrity hairdresser, boudoir confidant or presidential lounge lizard perpetually nodding in affirmative to the caprices of his principal.

    They are constantly engaged at the feet and filth attic of the political herd or online mob, their masters and benefactors. Flattery and malice leap from their forked tongues as they ennoble and attack their principal or quarry’s perceived allies and detractors.

    Through dispensations and conflict situations, they are pliable and servile, projecting their principals’ whim and wile with slavish plasticity. Their identities are self-evacuated as they persistently open themselves like a glove to the political palm. Like Castiglione’s male harlots, their shameless self-abasement is unmanly and amoral; they elevate bum over forelock in a flagrant rite of political sodomy.

    This is unbecoming of journalists and the intellectual class but it is our fate in contemporary Nigeria. Thus they speak modern in the tenor of savage minions.

    This phenomenon is borne of a hankering to romanticise the darker aspects of society, for a profit – thus they turn our corporate and political bandits into something more than mere criminals, often elevating them to the status of urban legends.

    The greatest thieves, says Bangambiki, are not caught. Not because it’s not known that they are thieves but because you cannot accuse them of robbery and live. These thieves are praised as national heroes and liberators or as successful entrepreneurs.

    The bandits of our country are not your ordinary criminals. They do not lurk in the darkness or wear masks to conceal their identities. Instead, they walk among us, their faces unmasked, their presence known to all. They are the ones who operate in plain sight, who defy the conventional notions of criminality, and who seem to possess a certain mystique that sets them apart from the common crook.

    It is said that our bandits are not driven by greed or malice, but by a deeper, more primal urge—a desire to challenge the status quo, disrupt the monotony of our everyday lives, and inject a sense of drama and excitement into the fabric of our society. They are the modern-day outlaws, the renegades who dare to defy the rules and forge their path through the urban landscape.

    But what sets our bandits apart from their counterparts in other climes is how we portray them. Instead of outright condemning their actions, we glorify them, mythologise them, and transform them into larger-than-life figures who embody the spirit of humanity or rebellion and defiance.

    We dress our bandits in the trappings of urban legends, weaving tales of their exploits that are equal parts fact and fiction. Perhaps it is our way of coping with the harsh realities of life in contemporary Nigeria, of finding meaning in the chaos and disorder that surrounds us.

    Perhaps it is our way of reclaiming a sense of agency in a world that often feels beyond our control. Or perhaps it is simply our way of indulging in a bit of escapism, of immersing ourselves in a narrative that is as thrilling as it is improbable.

    Whatever the reason, the fact remains that our bandits have become more than just criminals—they have become symbols, icons, and legends in their own right. They are the antiheroes of our urban landscape, the rebels without a cause, the outcasts who have found a home in the shadows.

    So, the next time you hear a tale of a daring pillage of the public till, a heist in the corporate business sector, or the brazen plunder of our villages by bandits operating from the forest groves, remember this: our bandits are not just thieves and troublemakers.

     They embody our collective imagination, the living, breathing manifestations of our wildest bigotries, shameless vanities and fears. They are the urban legends that banter and walk among us, reminding us that sometimes, reality is stranger than fiction.

  • To the broken man in the corpse of a child…

    To the broken man in the corpse of a child…

    The blood-thirsty squad that invaded the Federal Government College in Buni Yadi, Yobe State, comprised adolescent boys. Moving in deathly herds, they invaded the high school on February 25, 2014, like a storm cloud split by snaky thunderbolts.

    They stabbed through the night with a huge spear of mayhem and pumped hot bullets into the students while they slept, killing 59 boys.

    Eyewitnesses said they threw explosives into dorms as they sprayed the rooms with gunfire. Some of the students who tried to escape through the windows landed right before the terrorists, who slit their throats. Save a few survivors, the rest were burnt to death.

    There was no outrage in the wake of the massacre. Just silence. Convenient disconcerting quiet.

    Two months later, on April 14 – 15 to be precise, another batch of terrorists stormed the Government Girls Secondary School in Chibok, Borno State, and abducted 276 female students aged 16 to 18. And all hell was let loose as women’s rights activists, international and local NGOs started a campaign to free the girls. The movement gained global appeal as prominent figures identified with hashtags in the girls’ interest.

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    Through the hubbub, nobody paid a good mind to a curious development concerning both attacks and several other terrorist attacks afterwards: the majority of the perpetrators were boys at the cusp of adolescence. Some of the survivors of the attacks attested to this fact.

    Joseph David aka Ibrahim Al-Hajjar, a Boko Haram commander, would subsequently reveal to me in an exclusive interview that he led a troop of at least 150 teenagers and underage boys in Sambisa forest.

    David also forcibly married two of the Chibok girls: Precious a.k.a Faridah and Elizabeth a.k.a Amina, as co-wives to his first wife, Faridah, who he abducted from Madagali, in Borno State.

    A dangerous storm is brewing as you read. The boys we ignored have learnt the ropes of savage being yet nobody gives a hoot. At least, we would worry about what becomes of us when they set our neighbourhoods on fire, in a manic search for the warmth and attention we denied them.

    There is the argument that these boys are the results of polygyny gone wrong in the Muslim north; self-styled intellectuals and critics are quick to point out that Islamic polygyny is a problem that afflicts the north with hordes of almajiri, who are oft recruited as cannon fodder for ethno-religious crisis and terrorism. They recommend monogamy as a better alternative. This is a cheeky and self-serving argument.

    Islam and its precepts of polygyny cannot be blamed for the protracted violence in the north. The violence was borne of extreme politics and governance failure and must be blamed on the politicians, civil societies, parents, and individuals who are abusing the system in pursuit of selfish political, ethnoreligious, coital, and emotional lusts.

    How do we explain the thousands of children/child goons birthed outside wedlock in the southern parts of the country? Many of them are products of broken marriages and serial monogamy. There are several cases in which children are sired by a parent across successive monogamous marriages and informal cohabitation; one marriage breaks down, and the parent moves on to another partner, and so on. Lest we forget the ubiquitous ‘love-child’ and products of high school teen lust.

    Children sired via such arrangements are often sent to live with their grannies or forced to live as house helps in the homes of close and distant relatives. When they stay with an apathetic or extremely busy parent or guardian, they are condemned to the gruesome life of a latchkey child.

    Amid the sullied wave of awareness blowing through the country, these children learn assertiveness the way of the streets; some eventually flee the cold comfort of their parents’ or guardians’ abode – such children are called: ‘Awon omo o sanle.’ They constitute the rippling muscle of teen gangs and cult groups haunting Lagos, Oyo, and other parts of the southwest. While their peers in the northeast and northwest are forcibly recruited by bandits, Boko Haram and ISWAP death squads, they assume a different kind of terror to families, neighbourhoods, and States in the southern parts of the country.

    Hundreds of children are dumped in refuse, school, and public latrines; and subsequently condemned to shady orphanages and remand homes. If they are female, they become easy marks for sex traffickers and drug barons. If male, they end up as political thugs, drug mules, armed robbers, assassins, kidnappers, and gangbangers.

    In Osun, teenagers and young adults fleeing EFCC arrest in Lagos reassembled to practice internet fraud; recently, they rioted against frequent arrests and investigations by the police and EFCC. Many shamelessly identified themselves as ‘Game Boys’ (internet fraudsters or Yahoo boys).

    Cut to Lagos, the melting pot of turf battles and teenage gang wars. The city grapples with the menace of teen cults including the Awawa Boys, One Million Boys, Fadeyi Boys, Ereko Boys, Akala Boys, Ijesha Boys, Awala Boys, Shitta Boys, Nokia Boys, No Salary Boys, One Hour Boys, Oshodi Boys, No Mercy Boys, Aguda Boys, Night Cadet, Black Scorpion, Red Scorpion, Akamo Boys, Omo Kasari Confraternity, Para Gang Confraternity (mainly teenage girls), Japa Boys and Koko Boys, among many others.

    What started innocently as a group of minors begging people for money eventually metamorphosed into a gang of fearsome underage and teen cultists and armed robbers of ages 6 to 19.

    More worrisome is Awawa’s incursion into primary schools. Several months ago, 12 pupils of the Egan Community School, between the ages of 6 and 16, were reportedly caught after their initiation into Awawa, in the Alimosho area of Lagos. But their initiation would have taken place undetected for a Guidance and Counselling teacher at the school.

    The pupils were allegedly recruited by a 16-year-old girl, who attends a sister school, Egan Senior Grammar in Igando, Lagos, and were undergoing training to become future hitmen of the cult.

    The Awawa Boys operate in rag-tag squads of four, five, seven, 10 to 15 boys bearing deadly arms including baseball bats, clubs, meat cleavers, daggers, crude metal bars, ‘two by two’ (wooden planks with nails) and forks. For large missions, they operate as flash mobs of 100 to 150 boys.

    They terrorise Agege,  Iyana-Ipaja, Ibari, Ashade, Dopemu, Ogba, Ifako-Ijaiye, Abule-Egba, Ifako-Ijaye, Agege, Isale Oja, Ogba Ashade, Aluminium Village, and other parts of Lagos mainland and island.

    Though predominantly a cult of boys, females including prepubescent girls are recruited into the gang. An Awawa Boy can be identified by a drippy teardrop tattoo beside the left eye.

    Members of the cult are drug dependent. They binge on psychotropic substances including omi gota (gutter juice), colorado, pamilerin, codeine, cannabis, rohypnol and tramadol. And members nurse a morbid fascination for raping older women and also young girls.

    These are the monsters we created. Growing up, all they needed were exemplary masculine role models to emulate but what society offered them was an ethos of manhood that they could dumb down to.

    Nigeria treats the boy-child as an affliction to society and females, in particular; he is cast as inconsequential in the scheme of things. In truth, he is.

    This minute, he is marching as a terrorist or armed bandit, to abduct, rape, and kill perhaps, the daughters we frantically empower and protect.

    This is the world we built: a cosmos of ‘strong women’ reliant on Atlas’ strength, yet imperilled by his shrug.

    In commemoration of the International Day of the Boychild

  • Beyond rhetoric and pallbearers

    Beyond rhetoric and pallbearers

    The partisan critic parades patriotic zeal in a careless style. He is the plebeian statue sculpted of spunk and spittle. Governors, lawmakers, and the presidency consider him to be a dangerous yet compliant cuss perhaps because his activism commands insolent currencies.

    In truth, he is the proverbial yowl plundering rage slipshod, a revolutionary of dubious grace. His flashing eyes and vagrant rage combine cheeky swag with gruff panache. Flashing eyes may command and pierce but they can also incinerate from within.

    This is why #BringBackOurGirls, #Nottooyoungtorun, #ChurchTakeBackYourCountry, #2023Elections and other epochal movements barely redefine our lives: together, we either burn or bloom through their parochial contractions.

    Some of these events unfurl, mired in acrimony. For instance, while violence and rage afflicted the #EndSARS protest, acrimony and hate speech permeated the 2023 elections. 

    Yet the fruits of these events are negative for the same reason that they are positive for the youth; the resultant turmoil counsels caution, tact and masterful self-containment. One positive takeaway from such events is the timeless opportunity they offered the youth to regroup and re-strategise.

    There is no gainsaying large segments of the citizenry bemoan the extremities imposed by the removal of fuel subsidy and the floatation of the naira and its subsequent slump against the dollar; against the backdrop of these afflictions, Nigerians experience their most provocative descent into the maelstrom of a distressed economy and toxic politics.

    President Bola Tinubu certainly has his work cut out for him. At the moment, his ritualised personality totters through the maw of Nigeria’s subterranean nature. Will his government truly serve as a vessel of Renewed Hope or will it loom like a titanic funnel with a frail voice, half shrieking, half roaring in dubious clamour?

    Amid the torment of insecurity, a struggling economy and unemployment, he must resuscitate Nigeria from the gallows of misgovernance. On his watch, governance must manifest humanely.

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    Tinubu’s administration must make social and economic palliatives work for every segment of society irrespective of gender, tribe or social class. He must fulfil his promise to review the federal budgetary culture, revamp national infrastructure, resuscitate local industry, drive an import substitution agenda, reform the taxation system whereby the rich will pay more for what they consume, and lastly fight corruption, inefficiency and waste in government.

    And while we grapple with tighter management of the exchange rate as an alternative to the current loose, open market approach, he must make good his promise to devise a national industrial plan that extends tax and other credit facilities, encourages domestic manufacturers and producers, and develop major and minor industrial hubs in all geopolitical zones.

    Tinubu’s palliatives must be relatable to the people’s needs thus negotiations to increase the minimum wage must be realistically devised in the interest of the masses. His administration’s adoption of measures like affordable public transport fuelled with cheaper energy sources, among other incentives, is appreciable.

    As Nigeria reclaims her corpus from the claws of economic hardship, fresh afflictions manifest in sick bloom thus presenting public officers and their billionaire associates in the private sector with interminable prospects as patriots and saviours, rhetoricians and pallbearers.

    Yet, the masses chant, “Let the poor breathe!” across social media platforms. This new refrain has, over time, attained toxic undertones as a language of disenchantment and protest by agitated segments of the masses.

    Under the tenor of rage carelessly spun and hurled in the social space, however, manifests a positive suasion for peace and patience with the new government. A new league of patriots must emerge through the womb wall of our travails, preaching forbearance despite the threat of grislier hardship.

    This is a refreshing antidote to the radical youth segments that emerged from the political woods to participate in the 2023 polls. At the loss of the latter’s poll favourites, they weaponized their dissent and angst into a shrill orchestra.

    For a generation that prides itself on its disruptive capacities, their response to defeat was frantic, juvenile, and predictable.

    Contempt was a black hole of their dissent; the disdain for constructive criticism, and a spiralling convolution of the psyche. Little wonder they surged ethically knocked.

    More youths have learnt, perhaps, that you don’t cherry-pick aspects of your favourite demagogue to fulfil your narrative of hope. Eventually, you deal with the results of your actions and inaction through the storms.

    It is inspiring that the youth have finally woken up. But they must understand that our expectations for a better future do not solely hang on the office of Mr President. Every tier and organ of government must be brought to account.

    A curious development through the 2023 elections was the fear pervasive of the corridors of power. There was a realisation among the political class of the need to reengage more productively and humanely with the youths.

    Several political actors became scared of losing their clout and almighty “political capital.” Such fear is a good thing. Former Senate President, Ahmad Lawan, once warned his political class to productively engage with the youths to forestall the resurgence of an #EndSARS-like carnage. Lawan no doubt dreads an uglier revolt even as the youth romanticises its eventuality, in time.

    Vladimir Lenin’s homily of a successful revolt benchmarks all three Russian revolutions in the 20th century; he said, it is not enough for a revolution that the exploited and oppressed masses should understand the impossibility of living in the old way and demand changes, what is required for revolution is that the exploiters should not be able to live and rule in the old way.

    Only when the “lower classes” do not want the old way, and when the “upper classes” cannot carry on in the old way—only then can revolution win.

    To rebuild Nigeria, the youth must seek more visionary participation in the political process. They must seize the moment to regroup, adopt or establish a viable political party, duly registered, and founded on humane principles of nationhood, citizenship, and thought.

    They must present through legitimate means, to the parliament, a heartfelt wish to renegotiate their participation in the forthcoming elections. To achieve this, they must urge the National Assembly to normalise the use of more accessible and acceptable means of voting in the 2027 elections.

    Of course, the political class will object to this given their penchant for hoarding voter cards to fulfil their rigging master plans, but it’s worth starting the debate over that.

    And suppose the youths truly intend to assert themselves progressively at the forthcoming elections. In that case, they must begin to woo societal segments they have hitherto ignored and dismissed as too violent, too dumb, too compromised, and too wild.

    Suppose they are truly keen on more impactful political participation. In that case, they must learn to accommodate the random hooligan, and street urchin, among others, as co-travellers in the march towards the Nigeria of our dreams.

    Nobody was born to serve as a hooligan, arsonist, or assassin; the youth must initiate debates and deliberations spanning various fora, nationwide, whereby they would honestly thrash out crucial issues that aid the reduction of Nigeria’s youth to disposable social elements and cannon fodder for political violence.

    They must eschew violence and the inclinations for hate speech, and their synergies must be guided and adapted through an ad hoc and premeditated coordination in repelling moles, armed goons, and saboteurs, who would be sent to disrupt their rallies with tribal toxins, fake news, religious venom, and filthy lucre.

    None of these is achievable where the youths remain faceless and buried in herd feral.