The Nation Newspaper

Category: Letters

  • Human trafficking: Beyond rhetoric and promises

    Human trafficking: Beyond rhetoric and promises

    • By Yinka Adeosun

    Sir: July 30 every year is set aside to commemorate and raise the advocacy on a global, organised crime that continues to threaten human dignity and the peaceful coexistence of humanity. This day is another opportunity to reflect on the progress made, raise awareness, and stimulate action to combat this heinous act of human rights violation.

    The World Day Against Trafficking in Persons is a solemn reminder of the continuous battle against one of the world’s most disturbing crimes. The theme of this year – Human Trafficking is Organized Crime: End The Exploitation – reverberates an urgent alarm against the powerful criminal networks profiting from human anguish. It is a clarion call to action for the world to pull down the systems and structures of exploitation and protect the vulnerable among us from the traffickers reach.

    It is tempting to think that human trafficking is a crime of desperation, but it is not. Oftentimes, it is a calculated highly profitable business that is managed by an organised crime syndicate, which is all out to exploit situations of conflict, poverty, gender inequality and poor governance. Victims are trafficked within countries and across borders for the ultimate purpose of cheap, forced labour, sexual exploitation, and organ harvesting, among others. From countries to continents, no region is immune from this organized crime. According to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), traffickers are not relenting. Their trafficking routes are increasingly sophisticated, often operating in tandem with arms smuggling, money laundering, and drug trafficking.

    According to the United Nations Economic and Scientific Cultural Organisation (UNESCO), human trafficking is the third most common crime in Nigeria, after drug trafficking and economic fraud. Statistics from the National Agency for the Prohibition of Trafficking in Persons (NAPTIP), the agency established by the government to combat the crime posits that 61% of human trafficking happens internally while 39% happens across the borders. It is sad that although the federal and state governments are making efforts to fight human trafficking, Nigeria does not meet the minimum standards to eliminate the malaise. The hydra-headed monster of corruption involving NAPTIP officials, the judiciary, and security agencies remain significant concerns and contributed to impunity for traffickers.

    While children are continually deceived with false promises, women are forced into prostitution, and men are coerced into exploitative labour under cruel conditions. Statistics on prosecution appear to be dwindling, suggesting that it is a non-priority. These incidents are parts of a broader system of organised crime that preys on vulnerability and thrives on impunity.

    Ending exploitation cannot be achieved with mere rhetoric or kids gloves. It requires clear confrontation of the systems that sustain it. It is not enough to rescue and protect victims; the global community must challenge and prevent trafficking at its roots, as well as hold perpetrators accountable. Criminal networks can be disrupted through improved international cooperation, intelligence sharing, and enforcement capabilities. The Nigerian legislation and prosecution need major overhaul and strengthening in order to ensure that traffickers are pursued with the same urgency as other forms of organised crime. Trafficked victims and survivors should be protected and sustained through long-term support housing, healthcare, legal aid and education until they can stay on their own.

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    Both the federal and state governments have a huge role to play. Civil society groups, organised private sector, and individuals are not left out. Responsible supply chain, ethical recruitment practices, and public enlightenment campaigns are all part of the solution. As the crime gradually shifts online, technology companies must also step up to ensure that their platforms are not used to enable trafficking.

    In line with this year’s theme, we must also acknowledge that the fight against human trafficking is not a solo initiative. Rather, it is a fight against the entire apparatus of organised crime. To win the battle and end exploitation, we must dismantle the networks profiting from this evil and protect the human dignity that traffickers seek to erase.

    “Organised Crime: End the Exploitation” is not just a slogan. It is a call to conscience, a call to action. On this year’s World Day Against Trafficking in Persons, let all stakeholders commit to awareness and action. We cannot be less concerned anymore. Let us all work together across borders and sectors, building bridges of compassion and courage, to sustain a world where life sacrosanct, and is not bought, sold, or silenced. After all, human being is not a commodity.

    •‘Yinka Adeosun,

     Akure, Ondo State

  • Climate-driven conflict and why Nigeria must act now

    Climate-driven conflict and why Nigeria must act now

    • By Anagba, Joseph Obidi

    Sir: The cracked, sun-baked soils of rural Nigeria tell a painful story—one not just of drought or failed harvests, but of a growing conflict fuelled by climate induced insecurities. Across the country, communities once held together by mutual trust and reliance are now being torn apart as rising temperatures, water scarcity, and land degradation ignite tensions between farmers and herders at an alarming rate.

    What we are witnessing isn’t just a local problem—it’s a national emergency. Nigeria’s rural regions, especially in the Northeast, North-central, and Northwest, have become flash-points for climate-driven violence and mass displacement. Unless we act swiftly, the crisis will deepen, destabilizing both our security and our economy.

    For generations, farmers and pastoralists coexisted in a delicate balance. Herders moved south in the dry season and north with the rains, their cattle fertilizing the fields they passed. But as desertification creeps in from the north and dry seasons grow longer, that balance has collapsed. Grazing windows have shrunk, forcing herders to encroach on farmlands earlier and more frequently—often during the critical planting season. Conflict has become inevitable.

    And it’s not just nature that’s fuelling this crisis—it’s human action, too. According to the United Nations (UN’s) REDD+ Programme, Nigeria loses over 400,000 hectares of forest every year, reducing available land and water sources. Farmlands continue to expand into traditional grazing routes. Population pressures are mounting. Add to that widespread poverty, weapons in the wrong hands, and political elites who profit from the chaos and you have a perfect storm.

    Some states tried to respond. In 2016 and 2017, Ekiti, Benue, and Taraba banned open grazing, hoping to reduce conflict. But instead of bringing peace, these policies backfired. Violence actually spiked by nearly 50% in 2018 till date. Why? Because the bans were passed without offering alternatives like ranching infrastructure or inclusive dialogue. They pushed pastoralists into a corner, fighting not just for land—but for survival.

    The consequences are devastating. Millions of Nigerians are being displaced—some by violence, others by the slow creep of drought. Food insecurity is rising. According to the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nation, in 2023 alone, over 733 million Africans faced hunger, and that one in five people in Africa (or 20.4% of the African population) faced starvation which is the highest percentage of any region and Nigeria was no exception. Families are leaving farming altogether, only to find themselves trapped in deeper poverty.

    Women, in particular, suffer the most. They are the backbone of rural food production, yet they face the longest work hours, the least land rights, and the highest risk of violence—especially during times of scarcity and displacement. While many women show remarkable resilience—preserving seeds, rationing food, finding ways to stretch meagre resources—they still face structural barriers to recovery.

    So, what can be done? First, our leaders must acknowledge that this is not just an environmental issue—it’s a security issue. Climate change is already destabilizing communities, and treating it as a secondary concern is a dangerous mistake.

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    Second, policies must be inclusive. It’s not enough to pass laws banning grazing or allocating land for ranching for pastoralist—we need to involve farmers, herders, women, and local leaders in decision-making. Inclusive dialogue has proven to reduce violence more effectively than blanket bans.

    Third, we need urgent investment in climate-smart agriculture, credit access for rural families, and support for women farmers. Big initiatives like the Great Green Wall are promising—but they must be matched with immediate support for livelihoods on the ground.

    Finally, this crisis requires regional cooperation. Nigeria cannot solve it alone. Our neighbours in the Sahel face the same struggles. Cross-border migration, water management, and anti-extremist strategies must be addressed together—not in isolation. The cost of inaction is too great, and we can absolutely prevent catastrophic long-term humanitarian and security impacts. The vehicle to act exists in a renewed Sahelian Compact which, with its clear and actionable steps, provides a collective action on a shared challenge.

    The truth is clear: climate change is no longer tomorrow’s problem. It is here, and it is tearing at the fabric of our rural communities. The 2024 protests over food prices in Nigeria and Kenya are just the beginning. If we do not act now, the climate will not only destroy crops—it will destroy peace.

    Nigeria has a choice. We can continue to respond with short-term fixes and political blame games. Or we can face the reality of climate-driven conflict and build a system where security means fertile land, clean water, and opportunity for all.

    The time to act is not next year. It’s now.

    •Anagba, Joseph Obidi,

    Abuja

  • Why young Nigerians shun elections

    Why young Nigerians shun elections

    Sir: Daniel Noboa of Ecuador became the world’s youngest democratically elected president at age 35, taking office in November 2023. He follows a global trend of youthful leaders rising to power, including Gabriel Boric of Chile, who was elected at 35 in 2021, and Jakov Milatovic of Montenegro, who took office at 36 in 2023. Their elections reflect a growing desire for fresh perspectives and generational change in leadership.

    Nigeria’s political landscape remains dominated by older, wealthier, and more visible figures. Yet beneath the surface lies a generation brimming with potential – soft-spoken, idealistic, and driven by community service rather than power. These young Nigerians, however, rarely emerge as contestants in elections. This phenomenon reflects not only individual temperament but also deep structural barriers that favour the brash over the reserve. To understand why many youths are absent from ballots, we must examine the legal framework, campaign dynamics, party structures, finances, culture, and avenues for reform.

    Nigeria made history in 2018 when the late President Buhari signed the Not Too Young To Run Act, lowering minimum candidacy ages: president from 40 to 35, governorship and senate from 35 to 30, and house of representatives and state assemblies from 30 to 25. This amendment, steered by youth advocates like Samson Itodo and Cynthia Mbamalu of YIAGA Africa, opened a legal door for emerging leaders. But the minimum age is the only first step. Legal eligibility does not guarantee access.

    Many interested youths lacking political pedigree or visibility continue to struggle to get nominated by parties or raise a profile. Legal clearance is still overshadowed by economic privilege and charisma. As a result, the seats reserved for youth by law remain vacant or filled by outspoken, well-connected individuals, while quiet, introspective young Nigerians remain on the side lines.

     Campaigning in Nigeria demands financial firepower – nomination fees, posters, transportation, rallies, office accommodation, media and security. Form costs for major parties can exceed N45 million, beyond the reach of most young aspirants. Even grassroots youthful hopefuls rely on personal crowdfunding, endured logistics struggles and limited reach.

    Voting buying is endemic: candidates must offer cash, food or favours to earn voter loyalty. Reserved young aspirants simply cannot match entrenched politicians on fiscal terms. Without money, young, willing and thoughtful voices remain unheard, excluded not for lack of ideas, but for lack of means. The political field remains skewed toward those who pay.

    Nigeria’s political culture reveres age and familiarity. Traditional norms dictate that leadership belongs to elders, who mentor younger generations. A young aspirant or candidate is often dismissed as inexperienced, naive, or over-ambitious – accused of “jumping the queue.” For ambitious youths, who prefer to grow quietly through communities, these judgements reinforce self-doubt and self-exclusion.

     The problem extends to gendered expectations and patriarchal norms. Young women, especially introverted ones, face a dual invisibility-less visible by youth and overshadowed within their cohort. Cultural pressures to defer to age and status can stifle the confidence needed to run or even declare interest.

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    Despite youths comprising nearly forty percent of Nigeria’s voting population, their votes seldom translate into representation. While activism may ignite energy, many youth voter drives sputter as election seasons end.

     Every young aspirant who retreats from running is a lost opportunity for Nigeria to diversify leadership. Modest youths bring fresh perspectives – grassroots service, data-driven solutions, and technocratic insight. Their absence ensures politics remains performative and populist.

    To correct this imbalance, interventions must empower aspiring youths. There may be a need to reform party structures. Mandate youth-only seats or zones within primaries. Cap form fees or subsidize youth forms. Enforce issue-based selection criteria to deter from charisma-driven ballots.

    It is important to create grant schemes for youth aspirants. Expand crowdfunding platforms like RNV. Improve micro-loan access for campaigns, reducing reliance on vote buying.

    Mentorship and civic literacy should be scaled up by encouraging partnerships between civic groups and private sector to mentor young aspirants. Include mentorship programmes targeting introverted and policy-focused youths. Promote civic education early – universities, communities and virtual hubs.

    Media should profile successful youths who are making impact in politics and community roles. Youths should also leverage on digital mobilization to democratize visibility beyond rallies.

    The 2023 surge of youth activism signalled a generational shift. But its momentum risks fading. Quiet leaders – those who serve local schools, mentor peers, pilot grassroots projects – are essential.

     Young Nigerians must be encouraged to act on conscience, not charisma. They deserve access to legal candidacy, financial means, mentoring, and representation. What begins with legal reform must evolve into cultural shift.

    •Joe Afolayan, Abuja

  • Lessons from Super Falcons’ win

    Lessons from Super Falcons’ win

    Sir: The Super Falcons soared to victory, but their triumph casts a harsh light on the institutions that continue to fail Nigerian women on and off the pitch. For the tenth time, Nigeria’s Super Falcons lifted the 2024 Women’s Africa Cup of Nations (WAFCON) trophy in Morocco. Their consistency on the continental stage and visible growth at the FIFA Women’s World Cup place them among Africa’s most successful football teams—male or female.

    In sharp contrast, the Super Eagles continue to struggle, alternating between lacklustre performances and new excuses: poor pitch, bad officiating, or the ever-convenient scapegoat—mismanagement by the Nigeria Football Federation (NFF).

    But here’s the rub: the Super Falcons operate under the same institution. They endure the same corruption allegations, the same unpaid allowances, the same NFF inefficiencies. If anything, the women’s team has been treated worse, fighting harder for recognition, travel arrangements, bonuses, and even jerseys. And yet, they win.

    This isn’t just a sports story. It’s a question of gender, institutional decay, and what resilience really looks like under pressure. It forces us to rethink the way we narrate failure and celebrate success in Nigerian public life.

    For decades, Nigerian women athletes have learned that no one is coming to save them. They have no luxury of ego or entitlement. The Falcons’ journey is one of grit, discipline, and emotional labour, often carried out in the shadows of an institution that barely notices their excellence until trophies arrive.

    The men’s team, by contrast, swims in public adulation and higher pay but remains structurally fragile. They have higher expectations, but often lower accountability. The contrast isn’t in talent—it’s in team spirit, hunger, and the ability to perform amid institutional neglect.

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    This gender gap in performance is not accidental. It’s structural. Women athletes, especially in postcolonial states, build careers by navigating systemic disrespect, limited investment, and cultural ambivalence. This produces a collective toughness often absent from more celebrated male squads.

    There is a deeper cultural script at work here. Failure, when it comes to men, is often externalized. We are told “the NFF failed them” or “the coach is the problem.” There’s always a narrative insulation, a buffer of excuses. Women, on the other hand, are expected to succeed quietly or be forgotten.

    That’s why the Falcons win with strikes, protests, and training boycotts in the background; they carry both the burden of performance and the cost of institutional betrayal. And yet, they deliver.

    The Super Falcons show us what gendered resilience looks like. They offer a living case study of how marginalized actors navigate dysfunction more creatively than those embedded in power. They hold a mirror to Nigeria’s institutions and ask: If we’ve learned to win without support, imagine what we could do with it?

    The Super Falcons are not merely winning; they are exposing the NFF’s dysfunction by outperforming it. Their excellence is a mirror held up to institutional failure. Their success, quiet yet consistent, tells a story of refusal to be defined by neglect, refusal to collapse under chaos, refusal to be invisible.

    They have been shouting through silence for decades. Their victories demand not just applause, but transformation of policy, culture and governance.

    If Nigeria is to rebuild its sporting institutions with any seriousness, the blueprint may already exist. It is coded into the footsteps, match sheets, and locker room conversations of the most under-supported yet most successful team it has ever produced.

    The question is not whether the Super Falcons deserve more. The question is whether Nigeria deserves the Super Falcons.

    There is a broader civic lesson here. Women, across sectors in Nigeria—from farming to teaching, peacebuilding to sports—are often the ones holding the line while the system collapses. The Falcons are simply the most visible example.

    We must stop seeing their success as a miracle. It is earned, deliberate, and repeatable. What they’ve built, others can learn from—if we’re willing to pay attention, ask the right questions, and invest in the right places.

    The Super Falcons don’t just represent Nigeria. They remind us what it means to win in spite of Nigeria.

    •Lekan Olayiwola, lekanolayiwola@gmail.com

  • Buhari, epitome of simplicity and gritBuhariBuhari, epitome of simplicity and grit

    Buhari, epitome of simplicity and gritBuhariBuhari, epitome of simplicity and grit

    Sir: Most great leaders are more admired in death than alive. Late Muhammadu Buhari belongs to such circle of great men. The avalanche of tributes and memorials that greeted his death recently was a great testament to his unimpeachable greatness as Nigeria’s military and civilian leader.

    As military head of state between 1983 and 1985, most Nigerians misunderstood his real motives as a result of what many termed his highhanded approach to governance of the people and Nigeria’s patrimonies. But for his deposition in a counter coup of 1985 by Ibrahim Babangida and his military cohorts, the War Against Indiscipline which Buhari established in 1984, like the NYSC established by Gowon in 1973, could have been one of Nigeria’s greatest legacies.

    He was a man imbued by a honest intention and a sense of purpose, an astute mindedness for a greater Nigeria in a comity of nations. A highly incorruptible man whose simplicity of lifestyle understood life’s philosophy, that we came to the world with nothing and shall also exit it with nothing.

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    A tarcitum like late President Musa Yar Adua, in and out of office, Buhari’s carriage was with aplomb, imbued with simplicity and devoid of any air of arrogance or disdainfulness towards anyone. He was a friend to the talakawa, mekunnu and the hoi polloi of the society. This was the magic wand behind his cult-like following, particularly in the North. Like the late Sir Ahmadu Bello, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, Alhaji Adegoke Adelabu (Penkelemesi) and of course the Zik of Africa, Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe, late Buhari was a political colossus with a name that was inspiring.

    Buhari was a forthright man who never forgot those who helped him at one time or the other. In other words, he was a gratuitous man who was fond of remembering good deeds done to him and tries to repay back. After series of political failures at the presidency, prior to 2015, precisely in 2011, he broke down in tears and vowed never to contest again. But the then editor of Daily  Sun, Femi Adesina wrote a piece encouraging him not to throw in the towel, but to throng on in the hope of winning one day. In 2015 Buhari won and his first appointee was Femi Adesina as his media adviser.

    As human beings, we have our failings but the late Buhari in spite of his few shortcomings as a leader, did raise Nigeria’s pedestal of greatness higher than most of his predecessors.

    Finally, Buhari is a Nigerian meteor in the pantheon of Nigeria’s First Republic rulers.

    •Sunday Olagunju, Ibadan, Oyo State

  • What to do about Internally Displaced People

    What to do about Internally Displaced People

    Sir: In the dusty camps scattered across Borno, Yobe, Zamfara, Katsina and parts of Kaduna, live Nigeria’s forgotten faces, the millions of internally displaced persons (IDPs) forced out of their ancestral homes by a decade-long cocktail of insurgency, banditry, and communal clashes.

    These individuals are not just numbers. They are mothers who have lost children to gunfire, fathers who watched their livelihoods go up in flames, and youth robbed of dreams. According to the UNHCR, over 3.5 million Nigerians are currently displaced internally, many of them surviving in makeshift shelters with no access to clean water, adequate food, or healthcare.

    What’s most alarming is the psychological toll. Children who witnessed violence now suffer trauma without therapy. Women face gender-based violence, and many IDPs live without education or vocational training.

    We must ask: How long will Nigeria keep her own citizens in limbo?

    Amid the despair, there are powerful stories of resilience. Aisha, 17, teaches basic literacy under a mango tree to younger children in a Borno IDP camp, despite having lost both parents. In Zamfara, a widowed mother of four has started a soap-making business with help from a small NGO initiative, proving that even in crisis, hope flickers.

    These stories remind us that beyond statistics lie human beings who still dream, still strive, and still believe in tomorrow. But hope alone is not enough—there must be sustained action from the government, development partners, and local stakeholders to scale up support.

    We need more than Band-Aid interventions. The rebuilding of shattered communities must be intentional, inclusive, and fast-tracked.

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    While IDP camps get some national attention, the host communities often go unnoticed. In places like Bauchi and Niger states, families are taking in displaced relatives and strangers alike—sometimes tripling the burden on already limited resources like food, water, and healthcare.

    These communities are stretching beyond their limits without corresponding support. Farmers are losing land access. Local schools are overcrowded. Conflicts over scarce resources are on the rise.

    A national IDP support framework must include host communities as beneficiaries, not just as passive helpers. Ignoring them will worsen poverty and strain already fragile coexistence.

    The Nigerian government, through NEMA and State Emergency Management Agencies, has made attempts to reintegrate IDPs. But these efforts are often rushed or poorly coordinated. Many displaced persons return to unsafe villages with no basic services, putting them at risk of re-displacement.

    True reintegration is not just about physical return—it’s about restoring dignity. Homes must be rebuilt, farmlands secured, schools reopened, and local security guaranteed. Community dialogue and reconciliation efforts are also vital to heal wounds from ethnic and religious violence.

    Without addressing the root causes of displacement—insecurity, poverty, marginalization—the cycle of crisis will never truly end.

    Nigeria’s security challenges are hydra-headed: Boko Haram insurgency, banditry in the Northwest, farmer-herder clashes in the Middle Belt, and kidnappings in the South. Each zone bleeds in its own way, and millions of Nigerians live in daily fear.

    Security is the foundation of development. Without it, education, health, and infrastructure collapse under the weight of violence. It’s time for a national rethink on security strategy.

    State and community policing must become reality, with strict oversight to prevent abuse. Modern surveillance, local informant networks, and tech integration are critical. It is time to focus on welfare, training, and accountability structures, and unemployment, poor education, and youth radicalization that feed crime and extremism.

    Traditional rulers, religious leaders, and youth groups must be partners—not spectators—in restoring peace. Above all, political will must replace lip service. Nigeria’s security is too fragile to be left to reactive measures. It demands vision, planning, and inclusive execution.

    •Hamman Abdulkareem, <hamman6717@gmail.co

  • Averting future food insecurity

    Averting future food insecurity

    Sir: Nigeria stands on the brink of a potential food crisis that could have devastating consequences for its economy, security, and social stability. If urgent and well-coordinated strategic measures are not implemented, the nation may soon find itself battling widespread food shortages, soaring prices, and heightened dependency on imports.

    At the heart of the problem is the alarming trend of farmers abandoning the cultivation of essential cereal crops such as maize, rice, millet, and sorghum among others. The reasons are not far-fetched. The cost of critical agricultural inputs, including fertilizers, herbicides, pesticides, and improved seed varieties, has skyrocketed beyond the reach of the average smallholder farmer. These rising input prices, coupled with inflation and limited access to credit, are pushing many out of farming altogether.

    Worsening the situation is the declining market value of locally produced cereals. Many farmers now find that the cost of production outweighs the profits, largely due to unregulated importation of food items, which floods the market and undermines local efforts. This double blow, high production cost and falling prices, is suffocating the morale of Nigeria’s farmers and threatening the sustainability of domestic food production.

    We must admit that the Tinubu administration has made significant security gains, including the reopening of some major markets in the North that were previously shut down, and the restoration of access to farmlands that were once too dangerous.

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    However the administration must act swiftly and decisively to reverse this dangerous trajectory of farmers abandoning farming due to high prices of farm inputs. First and foremost, it must stabilize the agricultural sector through bold and innovative policy actions.

    One immediate step should be the subsidization of essential farm inputs to ease the burden on farmers and encourage continued cultivation. Beyond subsidies, the government must also initiate a national crop-buying program, particularly for cereal grains to mop up excess supply from farmers who still have stock from last year’s harvest but have been unable to sell due to poor prices. This intervention will not only stabilize market prices and inject liquidity into rural economies but also help rebuild farmers’ confidence in the system.

    Equally important is the revival and strengthening of agricultural extension services. Many rural farmers still lack access to modern farming techniques, climate-smart practices, and post-harvest handling skills. Empowering extension workers to bridge this gap will go a long way in boosting productivity and reducing post-harvest losses.

    Furthermore, flagship government initiatives such as the Presidential Fertilizer Initiative and the Anchor Borrowers’ Programme should not only be reactivated but also reformed. These programs must be made more transparent, efficient, and inclusive, with clear performance metrics and greater accessibility for smallholder farmers, especially women and youth in agriculture. Done right, these schemes can serve as catalysts for increasing yields, improving rural livelihoods, and enhancing national food security.

    Failure to act decisively would be an economic and security miscalculation. A food-insecure Nigeria is a fragile Nigeria. Hunger and poverty are known drivers of social unrest, migration, and instability, all of which carry long-term costs that far outweigh the price of preventative action today.

    As the population continues to grow, the demand for food will intensify. Nigeria must therefore prioritize agricultural resilience and food self-sufficiency as a cornerstone of its national development agenda. Investing in food security is not merely an economic necessity, it is a matter of national survival.

    •Zayyad I. Muhammad, Abuja

  • The debt we owe our policemen

    The debt we owe our policemen

    Sir: “I served 35 good years. I was given N1.7 million. I retired in 2018. Since then, I have been receiving N40,000 every month. What can 40k do?” – DSP Godwin Tom (Rtd.)

    It was a painful cry, not just of a man, but of a system that has failed those who put their lives on the line to protect it. Listening to retired DSP Godwin Tom lament his fate during the recent protest by retired police officers is enough to make the soul bleed.

    The way we treat our police officers, both in service and after retirement, is a national disgrace. They are underpaid, under-equipped, underappreciated, and then cast aside after serving. It’s a lose-lose situation. No dignity in service, and even less in retirement.

    One must commend Omoyele Sowore for bringing the needed attention to this silent suffering endured by many who once bore arms for the nation. It is through voices like these that these injustices get pulled out of the shadows into the public light. For that, he deserves credit.

    How does one serve the nation for 35 years and retire to a pittance that cannot feed a family, let alone afford housing? These are men and women who have faced all sorts to protect us; urchins, armed robbers, kidnappers, and raw violence of our streets, yet they retire into misery. And we wonder why morale is low, why corruption festers, and why security is fragile?

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    While in active service, the conditions are no better. Police barracks are often in states of disrepair, unfit for human habitation. Uniforms are tattered, weapons are outdated or non-functional, and welfare support is almost non-existent. Medical facilities? Don’t get me started. The police force that is supposed to protect lives and property is itself in need of rescue.

    Take it or leave it, a broken force cannot protect a country. Poor welfare compromises service delivery and inevitably, the integrity of the officers. When people have nothing to look forward to either during their careers or afterward, what incentive is left to serve with honour?

    It’s a national security crisis in disguise.

    If we want to attract the best into law enforcement, I mean a professional, disciplined, and committed police force, we must fix the welfare structure from the ground up. That means fair salaries, housing fit for dignity, health coverage, proper retirement plans, and respect -both in word and deed.

    Behind DSP Godwin Tom’s story are thousands more, silently enduring the same fate, waiting to be heard, or worse, forgotten. It’s time we stopped treating our police officers like expendables. It’s time we treated them as the human beings and patriots that they are.

    Their future should not be a sentence to poverty.

    •Chiechefulam Ikebuiro, chiechefulamikebuiro@gmail.com

  • A legacy of service: Agege vice chairman Gbenga Abiola bows out with account of stewardship

    A legacy of service: Agege vice chairman Gbenga Abiola bows out with account of stewardship

    Outgoing Vice Chairman of Agege Local Government, Gbenga Abiola, fondly known as Agbelebu, has given a detailed and heartfelt account of his nearly ten years in public service, marking the end of his tenure with a passionate statement titled “Short Story of My Service.”

    In the statement issued on Friday, Abiola, who also serves as the national coordinator of the Tinubu Media Force, chronicled his political journey from a legislative aide in 2015 to becoming the youngest local government boss in Lagos State’s history in 2016—a feat made possible through the mentorship and support of the Speaker of the Lagos State House of Assembly, Rt. Hon. Mudashiru Obasa.

    Abiola’s service as council chairman in 2016 earned him the Local Government Chairman of the Year award by City People Magazine, along with other accolades that recognized his dedication, youthful drive, and impact.

    Following his term as chairman, he returned to serve as Secretary to the Local Government, and later as Vice Chairman, under the leadership of Alh. Ganiyu Egunjobi.

    These roles, according to him, were not mere political appointments but renewed mandates to serve his community with “heart and humility.”

    He said: “In 2016, I criss-crossed from being a legislative aide to the current Speaker of the Lagos State House of Assembly in 2015 to becoming the youngest Local Government Boss in the history of Lagos State, Nigeria. Till this moment, I remain the youngest man that has ever sat on that seat as a Mayor in the great state of Lagos—on the recommendation and discovery of our great leader, Rt. Hon. Mudashiru Obasa. That single act of belief in my capacity transformed my life forever.

    “My contributions as a young man manning the affairs of Agege Local Government in 2016 earned me the prestigious Local Government Chairman of the Year award by City People Magazine, amongst other awards of merit. Those moments weren’t just acknowledgments—they were affirmations that dedication, vision, and youthful energy have a place in governance.

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    “The journey didn’t end there. The recommendation and belief continued as I handed over to Alh. Ganiyu Egunjobi as Chairman, and humbly returned to serve as Secretary to the Local Government, and later as the Vice Chairman of our great Local Government. These weren’t just political appointments—they were renewed calls to serve, to give, and to lead with heart and humility.

    “My service to the community and to local governance spans from 2015 till date—nearly a decade of consistent, intentional, and passionate contribution to humanity and public service. It’s not just a career; it’s a calling.

    “From 2016 as Local Government Chairman of the Year, to becoming Lagos’ youngest Council Boss, the youngest Secretary to a Local Government, and Social Secretary of the Conference of Secretaries (Scribe 57), to now one of Lagos’ youngest Vice Chairmen—I have served with every fiber of my being. I have done so with silent sacrifices, unseen battles, and countless late nights—all in service of the greater good.”

    Abiola highlighted key infrastructural and developmental projects executed during his tenure, including:

    The conversion of black spots into modern markets, simultaneous road constructions across communities, establishment of health centres in all wards of Agege, and the first Local Government CBT centre in Nigeria— a historic feat in grassroots education and technology.

    Beyond his official duties, Abiola said his commitment to youth development is evident through the Obasa Youth Alliance, a political structure he founded, now active in 28 local governments across Lagos West.

    According to him, he also initiated the Obasa Youth Crusade, an annual event attracting over 10,000 youths to celebrate leadership, creativity, and community.

    He said the activities include talent hunts, free raffle draws, and studio recording sessions, turning the crusade into a cultural movement of hope and unity.

    He added that his Agbelebu Foundation continues to touch lives through: Empowerment for physically challenged individuals, support for widows and the elderly, provision of GCE and JAMB forms for brilliant but indigent students, and mentorship and business hubs for emerging entrepreneurs.

    Abiola stated: “My heart beats for young people. I believe in their strength, their potential, and their future. That belief led me to create the largest youth political structure in Agege—Obasa Youth Alliance—which now spans 28 Local Governments across Lagos West. This wasn’t just an idea—it was a movement. A bold statement that young people have a voice, a place, and a future in politics and leadership.

    “From that, we birthed the Obasa Youth Crusade—a yearly celebration of leadership, unity, and youthful excellence. Gathering over 10,000 young people each year, the Crusade has become a beacon of peace, creativity, and community spirit. Talent hunts, free raffle draws, studio recording sessions—it is more than a program, it is a legacy of hope.”

    He credited his inspiration to President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, praising his unwavering commitment to youth empowerment, and also saluted Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu for making Lagos “the best economy in Africa.”

    In an emotional close to his statement, Abiola expressed profound gratitude to his benefactors, colleagues, family, and the people of Agege.

    “I pray to continue finding strength, courage, and wisdom—whenever and wherever I am called upon to serve. Service is not a title. It is a lifestyle. It is who I am.”

    Reaffirming his dedication to the Agbelebu Ideologies, he declared his unwavering commitment to serving humanity—whether inside or outside public office.

    “I remain Oluwagbenga Michael Abiola (Agbelebu), National Coordinator, Tinubu Media Force,” he concluded.

  • Missing piece in primary health care structure

    Missing piece in primary health care structure

    Sir: I recently had the privilege of attending the Africa Primary Healthcare Forum Conference 2025, a prestigious gathering of minds, stakeholders, policymakers, technocrats, and visionaries convened to dissect and diagnose the many ailments plaguing primary healthcare (PHC) across Africa, especially Nigeria. From the panels to breakout sessions, the discussions were fiery, engaging, and thoroughly necessary.

    Topics ranged from the tired over-reliance on curative health systems to a renewed focus on prevention. People talked big on digital health innovation, sustainable financing, away from donor-reliance health financing, better public-private partnership frameworks, and the urgent need for government prioritization. It was a medley of necessary ideas floating in urgency, as it should be.

    Yet, something was off. Something critical was missing from the table, from the speeches, from the slides. No one mentioned it. Not even once. Where, in all the conversations about saving PHC, was traditional and complementary medicine?

    Complete erasure. And that is dangerous.

    Whether policymakers like to admit it or not, traditional medicine is not just a sidebar in African healthcare, it is, for many, the first and only form of healthcare they know. For decades, and still to this day, traditional and complementary medicine (TCM) has been the anchor often the only accessible, trusted, and affordable system of care for millions, especially at the grassroots. In fact, WHO data boldly states that nearly 80% of people in Africa rely on traditional medicine in one form or another. That’s not a statistic. That’s a screaming reality.

    And yet, at a high-level summit on PHC in Africa, it was treated as invisible.

    Why? Is it the elite delusion that healthcare must be boxed strictly within biomedical confines to be legitimate?

    Whatever the reason, that silence reveals something tragic: we are trying to fix the house by ignoring the foundation.

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    To be blunt: any attempt to “fix” PHC in Africa without giving a front-row seat to traditional medicine is a performance. It is incomplete. It is misaligned with reality. It is tone-deaf to culture.

    Primary healthcare is not a hospital-centric concept. It is not a digital app. It is not a modern building with drugs and machines. It is first and foremost a philosophy, healthcare that begins with the people. It is decentralised, embedded in the community, rooted in culture, and closer to the home than to the clinic. And there is nothing closer to the home physically, socially, and culturally than traditional medicine.

    So why are we treating it like it’s a relic?

    What we need is not another dusty “Traditional Medicine Department” sitting idle in the ministry office. Not another limp paragraph in a policy document no one reads. What we need is real, strategic integration, bold, systemic inclusion of traditional and complementary medicine into the national PHC framework.

    This is common sense.

    Traditional healers are already doing the work without the recognition, without the training, without the regulatory framework. They are already where formal systems cannot reach. In remote villages, urban slums, even suburban corners. They are treating, advising, consoling, and sometimes even preventing illnesses all with cultural fluency and deep trust.

    Imagine if they were trained. Imagine if there was a framework to equip them, link them with formal PHC centres, include them in health education initiatives, and embed them in the referral ecosystem. Imagine if our systems stopped seeing them as a threat and started seeing them as the assets they already are.

    Because here’s the truth: You can’t reach the people without going through the gatekeepers they already trust. And trust is not something digital tools or biomedical superiority can automatically buy. Trust is cultural. It is emotional. It is generational. Traditional medicine carries that trust. And no matter how sophisticated our health architecture is, if people don’t trust it, they will not use it.

    We can digitise all we want. We can build more PHC centres, fund PPPs, and launch one policy after another. But if we don’t build a bridge between formal healthcare and the informal systems people already use, we are widening the gap we claim to want to close.

    We must stop treating traditional medicine like an embarrassing uncle at a wedding. It’s not a side act. It’s a central actor, one that can help us rewrite the PHC narrative from the inside out.

    Because until traditional medicine is recognised, regulated, and reintegrated with full legitimacy, our vision for strong, community-driven primary healthcare in Africa will remain a castle in the air.

    •Oladoja M.O, Abuja