The Nation Newspaper

Category: Olukorede Yishau

  • Issues in ‘Dream Count’

    Issues in ‘Dream Count’

    A novel is never just about one thing. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s latest work, ‘Dream Count’, embodies this truth vividly.

    This novel follows the lives of four women—Chiamaka, Omelogor, Zikora, and Kadiatou—while tackling a wide range of pressing issues: the devastating effects of mining in Guinea, Pentecostal Christianity, the Coronavirus pandemic, pornography, Female Genital Mutilation, the French government’s role in crippling Guinea’s economy, rape, male ego, the flaws of the media, the obsession with male children, the elite’s fascination with foreign medical check-ups, the dark side of the modeling industry, and the tragic plight of Nigerian pensioners—many of whom collapse and die while queuing to verify their identities.

    The novel also offers a piercing critique of America—a nation obsessed with toilet paper, where the police “shoot more than they run,” where Amadou Diallo was gunned down, where maternal mortality rates are starkly divided along racial lines, and where spectacle is often mistaken for substance. We see the America where decisions that engender peace and war have been taken and are still being taken; where fates are sealed and destinies overturned; the America with phases and faces, the America that shows you what it wants you to see. The America that is like Esu odara; its cap has red on one side and black on the other, and the side you are facing determines what you see and what you get. We see the America that if you are in its good books, goodness and mercy shall follow you all the days of your lives, and if you are in its bad books, woes betide you. It exposes the illusion of the American dream, revealing a country that thrives on the labour of immigrants yet falls far short of the paradise it is often portrayed to be.

    Adichie paints a picture of Abuja, Nigeria’s Federal Capital Territory (FCT), where learning to speak Hausa provides a distinct advantage. It is a city where seemingly innocent men and women indulge in hard drugs, with Loud, Codeine, and more as their substances of choice. Corruption, far from being subtle, strides boldly—not just on two legs, but on four.

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    The book tells us “shisha is ten times worse than normal cigarettes. We’re killing ourselves”.

    Brazilian Butt Enlargement (BBL) receives attention with the deaths of clients in the hands of quacks emphasized, mocking “the longing for big buttocks that makes you agree to go under anesthesia in a darkish room with peeling paint”.

    In the book, we are reminded that those who rape are of different variants: handsome men, rich men, successful men. Their victims even include babies and the elderly. The women they rape can be ugly or beautiful. What is important is that she is a woman through and through. Beauty or class is immaterial to these men described as “wild animals”.

    The novel isn’t modelling-friendly; it describes it as “that sea of glimmering sadness, a profession in which joylessness is prized. How edited the pleasures seem, with nothing sensual or real”. It sees models as “those bony square-shouldered sylphs, clavicles jut-ting out like knuckles, and always morose, blandly morose, the same kind of morose for all of them, because even personality has become unfashionable”.

    The author also revives our memory of Nafissatou Diallo, the hotel worker in Washington whose ugly encounter with tenth International Monetary Fund (IMF) managing director, Dominique Strauss-Kahn, sparked an international scandal. Through its narrative, the book not only recalls the power dynamics and controversy surrounding the case but also compels us to reflect on broader themes of justice, privilege, and the vulnerability of marginalised individuals in the face of institutional power.

    The novel unravels the weight of tradition in a world that often equates a woman’s worth with her ability to create a family. It explores the relentless urgency imposed on women of advanced age to either find a partner or pursue parenthood through any means available—whether through adoption, IVF, or surrogacy. Through this, we see the slippery nature of moralities, which sees them adjusting depending on time and circumstances.

    Omelogor’s website, where she posts regularly, provides a platform for the author to tackle important issues, particularly those related to the way the female mind is wired. Through her posts, she explores topics such as abortion, the need for unconditional apologies, clearly defining relationships with women, the classification of women as gold-diggers, self-control, the many ways to be a man, and more.

    One issue that the novel gives extensive space and gladdens my heart is the rot in the banking sector. Through the lens of Omelogor, the novel delves into the deceptions woven into the fabric of the banking world. It exposes the staggering profits amassed from foreign exchange deals, the reckless approval of unqualified clients for loans—granted not on merit but in exchange for a hidden cut—and the insidious rise of massive non-performing loans, where fortunes vanish with the mere stroke of a pen. The narrative also lays bare the audacity of the wealthy, those who borrow with no intention of repayment, knowing full well that the system is designed to absorb their debt, quietly shifting the burden onto the books as just another line in a profit and loss statement. In this world, financial institutions become complicit, not only enabling but profiting from the very frauds that should unravel them.

    The novel, with its exploration of corruption, remnants of colonialism, mediocrity, inept political class, the hassle of traveling with a Nigerian passport and other pressing issues, serves as a reflection on Nigeria—where the rain is hitting us and bad. It offers glimpses of the tensions between Christians and Muslims, as well as the persistent North-South divide. The narrative also touches on the Igbo question in Nigeria, exemplified by Jideofor’s decision to shorten his name to Jide in order to secure a job for which he was previously rejected. He, too, turned it down because he sees the hiring team as Igbophobic. We also see a snippet of the tensions between the majority and the minority tribes in our dear country.

    My final take: Life is a stage and we are all playing our parts. No gender has the monopoly of being bad. No nation is without its unpleasant side, and no one’s life will be without low and high moments.

    Adichie has given us a remarkable novel that is as messy as life itself and she leaves us to reach whatever conclusion pleases us.

  • Chimamanda’s ‘Dream Count’ isn’t innocent

    Chimamanda’s ‘Dream Count’ isn’t innocent

    We’ve always heard of body count, that phrase referring to the number of sexual partners a person has—often used to judge women more harshly than men. But in ‘Dream Count’, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie flips the coin, shifting the conversation from physical encounters to something far more elusive: the dreams we hold dear and the weight of their loss. This is her first novel in almost twelve years, and it tells the stories of four women whose aspirations, in different ways, are dashed.

    Three of these women—Chiamaka, Zikora, and Omelogor—are Nigerian, while the fourth, Kadiatou, is Guinean. Theirs are tales of exile—of being caught between places, cultures, and the expectations of others.

    Chiamaka is the daughter of a millionaire businessman and a travel writer living in the Maryland suburbs. Zikora works for a Washington, DC law firm. Omelogor is Chiamaka’s closest cousin and a former banker. And Kadiatou, the one they all come together to help. Call it women supporting women.

    Of all the loosely intertwined novellas that make up the novel, Kadiatou’s story resonated with me the most. She can easily emerge the most memorable. Perhaps it is because of the sheer force of her resilience, the way she clings to hope even when it is fraying at the edges. Or, perhaps because Kadiatou isn’t fully fictitious. Adichie models her after Nafissatou Diallo, a hotel worker, involved in the scandal that ‘castrated’ former IMF boss Dominique Strauss-Kahn. The choice of her last name is some sort of memorial to Amadou Diallo, an immigrant America police shot and killed extra-judicially.

    The multi-points-of-view novel re-imagines Kadiatou’s life in Guinea before she comes to America. We see how her father dies in a mining pit. We see how a man she is betrothed to marries another. We see how a man she wishes to marry disappears to America for years. And we see how he eventually comes back to get her to America. But, a lot of water has passed under the bridge before his return. She has had a child for a man, who like her father, died at a mining factory. And the respite she thinks America will offer is shattered by a powerful man whose brain is twisted by his phallus. When she takes up a job in a hotel, she is assigned a room to clean and the big man in the room forces her to perform oral sex on him and leaves sperm dripping down her mouth. An investigation reveals the man’s identity and Chiamaka, Omelogor and Zikora team up to get her justice from one of the ‘mad’ men roaming our world.

    In the case of Chiamaka, one man after the other tests her patience and, in the long run, crushes her dreams. Of course, she isn’t without her flaws.

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    Through Kadiatou, Adichie deals with the issue of Female Genital Mutilation and punctures the myth that uncircumcised women are not marriageable.

    At the time Adichie plunges us into Zikora’s story, she is in the hospital about to deliver her first child. Her mother, who she has had a ‘comci-comca’ relationship with, is there with her, but the father of the child, Kwame, is nowhere to be found. He begins to ghost her the day she told him she was pregnant. This is a man who has sex with her knowing she has stopped birth control pills. This is a man who has visited her parents in Enugu, who befriended her father and asked questions that suggest marriage is the final destination for their relationship. He has also taken her to his parents and nothing forewarned her of her present situation of having a baby whose father doesn’t want to be bothered. Through her story, particularly the part about her father taking a second wife, we see how men take the issue of male children. We also see in a revelation from her mother how guileful some women can be.

    We also meet Omelogor, who once ran a secret initiative in her Nigeria discreetly funneling small business grants to women under the alias “Robyn Hood.” The fund is ‘sourced’ from corrupt Nigerians. Now, she’s enrolled in an American graduate program, researching pornography as a societal ill while offering unfiltered advice on her website, For Men Only. One of her blunt truths: “I get that you’re against abortion, but if you really want to reduce it, start by taking responsibility for where your male bodily fluids go.”

    The book also critiques America, portraying it as a nation preoccupied with toilet paper, where the police “shoot more than they run,” where they shot Amadou Diallo, where maternal mortality rates are starkly divided by race, and a nation that has used razzmatazz to bamboozle us.

    Omelogor told Kadiatou: “America is not that wonderful. And you are not here for free; you’re working and you’re part of what makes America America.”

    The novel also reminds us of the evil Charles De Gaule did to the Guinean economy all to frustrate the country’s quest to end imperialism.

    My final take: Adichie doesn’t write innocent novels. Like her polemics, her fiction tackles issues, especially man-woman dynamics and comes across as didactic. Her latest novel isn’t innocent. In ‘Dream Count’, men who make women’s dreams fail are her victims and she doesn’t just slap them, she rains punches on them like a boxer. The men in this work vary from decent yet dull to charming rogues, and from outright sexist plunderers to emotionally distant figures.

    The book is particularly, and justifiably so, harsh on men who violate women. Curses are even raining on these men identified as “wild animals”.

    But, not all the men in ‘Dream Count’ are mad. Despite Amadou’s flaws, his love for Kadiatou isn’t in doubt. He identifies with her in her time of trouble. Chiamaka’s father and Elhadji Ibrahima also come off as not insane.

  • Aiwanose Odafen’s feminist text

    Aiwanose Odafen’s feminist text

    Feminism oozes out of almost every page. In some instances, it is subtle and in many cases, it’s in your face, daring the society to reckon with its systemic unfairness towards women.

    Aiwanose Odafen’s debut novel, ‘Tomorrow I Become A Woman’, is pro-women and not necessarily anti-men. It rails against women being seen as addendum in marriages and as humans who have to continually remold themselves to please the society.

    Through Uju, the narrator and protagonist, we are served dishes of the many injustices against women.

    As a girl, Uju must assist her mother in the kitchen, observe strict curfews, and adhere to dress codes her brothers are exempt from—all in the name of culture. Later, as an adult, Uju navigates the many ways societal norms impose on women’s autonomy. Culture, she is constantly told, dictates the ways she must lead her life.

    We see how single ladies are treated as outcasts when Uju is encouraged to either advise her friend, Chinelo, to get married or abandon her. Her husband tells her a married woman shouldn’t have an unmarried friend. And her mother tells her to be careful of Chinelo because she can be jealous and “scatter her marriage.”

    Uju’s lack of pregnancy in the first year of her marriage becomes a communal concern. Her mother, who expected immediate conception, badgers her incessantly. But, since it’s her body, she opts for birth control pills. And when she is found out, the heaven nearly comes down. It’s a different kettle of fish when she goes to the hospital for a pregnancy test without a wedding band and nurses look at her as the promiscuous unmarried woman. And wait for this ridiculous one: An elderly nurse derides her for having a girl as a first child, yet science has proven that a man determines the sex of a child. To add salt to her injury, an old school mate feels the appropriate prayer is to say “ don’t worry, God will give you a boy next” after beholding her girl-child. There are other variants of this prayer hurled at her regularly such as “This one God has given you is okay, but He could always give you better”.

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    Interestingly, when it begins to take time for a second child to come, it is on the woman the attention is turned. The absurdities pile up: She is asked questions that are better not dignified with answers. Family and friends bombard her with unsolicited advice—consult doctors, visit pastors, or try concoctions that will deliver the much-needed pregnancy.

    Sadly, when Uju begins to suffer one miscarriage after the other, she is blamed for the situation and subjected to all manners of nonsense. She is left to bear the heavy cross alone. In a ridiculous twist, her mother interprets the situation as God’s punishment for her past use of birth control pills to prevent pregnancy in the early stage of her marriage. She is asked to seek penance and when the situation persists, she is accused of having no faith. Her miscarriages are used to pressure her into abandoning her fully-funded postgraduate studies. And Uju’s mother thinks she should be grateful that Chigozie, her husband, hasn’t taken another wife to give him more children.

    Eventually, she carries another pregnancy to term and the result isn’t just one baby but two and then we see another unfair side of our society: There are disappointments because they are girls and pressure resumes on her to try again so that she can have a boy to cement her position in Chigozie’s life as if her daughter were a consolation prize.

    Odafen’s novel raises critical posers: Is it right for a husband to feel slighted because his father-in-law bought his wife a car without informing him first? Why do some men find it easy to turn their wives into punching bags? Does corporal punishment bring about good behaviours in a woman? Why does a generation of mothers justify the domestic abuse of their daughters? What are a woman’s primary responsibilities? Is it the woman’s responsibility to keep the home whole even when the man of the house has lost touch with reality and running amok? Is there sense in asking a wife to hand over her money to her husband to make him feel like the head of the home? Whose role is it to get toddlers to be quiet when they cry in public space? Does a husband only become a man when he has a male child?

  • If you Akpoti me, I Akpabio you

    If you Akpoti me, I Akpabio you

    In the grand theatre of Nigerian politics, where drama and intrigue are as common as potholes on our roads, we now have a new episode starring Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan and Mrs. Ekaette Akpabio, wife of the Senate President. This saga, rich in allegations, lawsuits, and demands for astronomical sums, could easily be mistaken for a Nollywood blockbuster—if only it weren’t our reality.

    This isn’t the first time Senate President Godswill Akpabio has found himself in the eye of such a storm. In 2020, Joi Nunieh, the former Acting Managing Director of the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC), accused Akpabio of sexual harassment. Nunieh claimed that during her tenure, Akpabio made inappropriate advances, leading her to physically defend herself. She stated, “I slapped Akpabio for sexually harassing me.”

    Fast forward to 2025, and history seems to be repeating itself. Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan has come forward with allegations that Akpabio made inappropriate advances towards her, even in the presence of her husband. She claims that on December 8, 2023, during a visit to Akpabio’s residence in Uyo, he held her hand and led her around his house, making suggestive comments along the way. She further alleges that Akpabio insinuated she should “take care of him” if she wanted her motions to receive favorable consideration on the Senate floor.

    Mrs. Ekaette Akpabio has taken it upon herself to defend her husband’s honour by filing two defamation lawsuits against Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan, demanding a whopping N250 billion in damages. Yes, you read that correctly—N250 billion. To put that in perspective, that’s enough to fund several state budgets or perhaps buy a small European country.

    Mrs. Akpabio claims that these allegations have caused her and her children emotional and psychological distress, leading them to live in constant fear. One can only imagine the terror of being associated with such a scandal in our ever-forgiving society. She is also seeking a court declaration that the allegations are defamatory, a formal written retraction, and an unconditional apology to be published in two national newspapers.

    Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan earlier filed a defamation lawsuit against the Senate President and his senior legislative aide, Mfon Patrick, seeking N100 billion in damages and an additional N300 million in litigation costs. This counter-suit stems from a Facebook post allegedly made by Mr. Patrick, criticising her conduct in the Senate. Clearly, in Nigerian politics, social media posts are now valued higher than oil reserves.

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    As this legal tit-for-tat unfolds, one can’t help but marvel at the sheer scale of the damages being demanded. It’s as if our politicians have discovered a new goldmine in the form of defamation lawsuits. Perhaps this is the solution to our economic woes—encourage all public figures to sue each other for astronomical sums and watch the naira strengthen overnight.

    The gravity of these allegations has not gone unnoticed. Former Vice President Atiku Abubakar and ex-Senate President Bukola Saraki have called for a thorough, impartial, and transparent investigation into the matter, emphasizing that such allegations should never be dismissed, especially when they involve a public officer with immense power and responsibility.

    Akpoti-Uduaghan submitted a petition, which the Senate didn’t waste time in throwing away. Akpabio also defended himself saying his mother raised him well enough not to disrespect or harass women. 

    As this Akpabio/ Akpoti-Uduaghan legal and moral drama unfolds, the Nigerian public finds itself in the familiar role of spectator, watching as those in power navigate scandals that would make for compelling cinema. Whether justice will be served or political theatrics will prevail remains to be seen.

    In the meantime, the rest of us can only sit back and enjoy the spectacle, popcorn in hand, as our leaders engage in this high-stakes game of legal chess. After all, who needs Netflix when you have the Nigerian political arena?

  • IBB didn’t disappoint me

    IBB didn’t disappoint me

    Former military president Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida’s book, ‘A Journey in Service’,  has, predictably, ignited heated debates across Nigeria. Critics argue that he either lied about or glossed over some contentious aspects of his rule—particularly the economic upheaval triggered by his Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP), Mamman Vatsa’s killing and the June 12 annulment. His supporters laud the book as an essential account of a leader who navigated Nigeria through a complex era.

    Amid all this discourse, a peculiar sense of surprise lingers, as though Nigerians genuinely expected Babangida to pen a self-condemning memoir. This expectation ignores the very nature of political autobiographies. Rarely—if ever—do former heads of state write books that portray themselves in an unfavourable light. Across the world, such memoirs serve as instruments of legacy-building rather than confessional documents. Political leaders do not author history to dismantle their own reputations; they write to shape how they are remembered.

    Take, for example, Richard Nixon, the American president who resigned in disgrace following the Watergate scandal. In writing RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon, he did not dwell on personal guilt but instead crafted a narrative of a misunderstood leader whose choices, though flawed, were rooted in patriotism. Similarly, British Prime Minister Tony Blair’s ‘A Journey’ justifies his decision to invade Iraq, despite the disastrous consequences and widespread public opposition. Closer to home, former Nigerian president Olusegun Obasanjo’s extensive literary contributions—including ‘My Watch’—paint him as a visionary statesman, often downplaying his own missteps while scrutinising those of others.

    Babangida’s book follows this same pattern. Those who anticipated a mea culpa—an outright admission of economic mismanagement or a confession of personal interest in annulling the June 12 election—misunderstand the strategic purpose of political memoirs. Rather than reacting with shock or disappointment, Nigerians should approach Babangida’s book with the critical lens it deserves. His version of history is but one perspective—one that will inevitably be challenged, scrutinised, and debated. But expecting him to have written an account that dismantles his own legacy was always wishful thinking. If history has taught us anything, it is that it is rarely written by those who lost power in disgrace, but by those who wielded it. Babangida’s memoir was never going to be an exception.

    The excerpts from the memoir that I have read have got me thinking about ‘Badamasi’, his biopic shot some years back by Obi Emelonye. I have a strong feeling IBB or people close to him spoke with the makers of the movie off-record. The portrayal of Sani Abacha in the biopic is in sync with the book’s presentation of the late military leader as the head of the forces against MKO Abiola becoming president.

    In the biopic, initially billed for the cinema on the 28th anniversary of the celebrated presidential poll won by the late MKO Abiola, which IBB shamelessly aborted,but later quietly ‘dumped’ on Amazon Prime, Abacha came out as the ruthless one.

    A tired IBB at some point had to shout on the man he called Khalifa (successor): “Can’t you see what is happening? We have messed up?” But an adamant Abacha replied: “Whatever happens, the election remains canceled”.

    Many coups in the country’s history had this son of Niger playing one major role or the other. IBB was there when Murtala Mohammed overthrew Yakubu Jack Gowon; he backed Muhammadu Buhari to terminate the democratic administration of the late Shehu Shagari; he is also credited with foiling the Dimka coup which killed Murtala Mohammed, and he was not missing in action when Buhari was shown the exit for him to take the crown.

    When he came into power, it was like a messiah had come from unexpected quarters. He behaved as if a friend of the common man was finally manning the purse and fairness would dictate the disbursement of its goodies. He started talking about the rule of law, he was talking about ending poverty, he was talking about human rights, and he was talking about a government with a human face- an obvious criticism of the government he overthrew, which had zero respect for human rights, rule of law and many others.

    IBB followed up his talks by setting up committees to work out the implementations of his ideas. He attracted some of the best brains from the academia, the Bar, and everywhere else. Many were excited about the turn of events and natural critics of government pleaded for the man to be given a chance. It took time for it to become clear that a political Diego Maradona was in the saddle, and he would dribble Nigeria into a tight corner, which, years after, it would be trying to get itself out of. One of the populist moves IBB took was to get his Attorney-General, the respected Egba Prince, Bola Ajibola, to assemble a National Committee on Corruption and Other Economic Crimes. It was chaired by the late Justice Kayode Eso. Its task was defined by its name. One of the suggestions the committee made, as Eso recalled in his book, ‘The Mystery Gunman’, was the enactment of rules against living beyond one’s means. It also sought the establishment of the Independent Commission Against Corruption, which I suspect was the root of the one Obasanjo later set up. IBB showered Eso and his committee with encomium when he received their report. He described its recommendations as the real panacea to the ills of the nation and promised to act on them, but the only action he took was to dump the report. If he had not done that, many in his government and his friends would have had their times in jail. Several other populist moves, including the one which gave the impression he was going to be in power for a short period, went the way of the Eso committee. The Maradona was just playing games.

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    I am happy that in the book Babangida admits Abiola won that election. I don’t know the worth of his claim that given the chance he would have handled the annulment, which he blamed on Abacha-led forces, differently. His use of ‘without my approval’ to pass the bulk on weighty matters of national interests seems in line with his image as the Maradona.

    All in all, I’m not disappointed in him. He has only followed the footsteps of past leaders all over the world to dance around issues rather than face them. 

    My final take:  Leaders do not self-flagellate in print; they reframe history to fit their chosen narrative. If anything, the real story lies not in what Ibrahim Babangida says in ‘A Journey in Service’, but in what he omits—and the gaps he leaves for historians, journalists, and scholars to dissect.

  • Not good for Wigwe’s memory

    Not good for Wigwe’s memory

    The ongoing legal battle over the estate of the late Herbert Wigwe, former Group Managing Director of Access Bank, is a threat to the legacy of a man who contributed immensely to Nigeria’s banking sector. The dispute, involving his father, Pastor Shyngle Wigwe, and cousin, Christian Chukwuka Wigwe, against those currently managing his estate, has brought to light the complexities of wealth, inheritance, and familial expectations.

    At the heart of the matter is a legal struggle over the administration of Wigwe’s assets and the guardianship of his minor children. The Lagos State High Court’s decision to dismiss an application seeking interim control of his estate highlights the intricacies of such cases, where legal nuances often determine the outcome. While the claimants have now appealed the ruling, arguing that the court failed to separate interim reliefs from the final decision, the broader issue remains—how should a successful individual’s wealth be managed posthumously to ensure both fairness and the preservation of their legacy?

    Wigwe’s story is one of hard work, innovation, and excellence. His leadership at Access Bank was instrumental in transforming it into one of Africa’s largest financial institutions. His contributions extended beyond banking; he was a philanthropist, mentor, and role model. Yet, as is often the case with affluent individuals, the transition of wealth after their passing becomes a source of contention, raising questions about preemptive estate planning and familial unity.

    The public nature of this dispute is regrettable. Legal battles of this nature should be approached with utmost discretion, protecting the privacy of the bereaved and ensuring that the focus remains on what is in the best interest of the beneficiaries.

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    The integrity of Wigwe’s estate should not be reduced to a battle for financial control; instead, his vision and values should guide how his wealth is managed and distributed.

    In many African societies, wealth and inheritance are not merely legal matters but deeply cultural ones. The expectation that wealth should remain within the extended family often clashes with modern legal frameworks that prioritise nuclear family structures. This cultural tension may be contributing to the ongoing dispute, highlighting the need for clearer estate planning among high-net-worth individuals.

    As this case unfolds, one hopes that all parties involved will seek a resolution that honors Herbert Wigwe’s memory rather than tarnishes it. True legacy is not just about the wealth one leaves behind but also the unity, principles, and goodwill that endure. The Wigwe family should prioritise dialogue, reconciliation, and the well-being of the next generation over prolonged litigation.

    Ultimately, this should serve as a lesson to all—estate planning is not just for the wealthy but for anyone who wishes to ensure that their legacy is protected and that their loved ones are spared unnecessary disputes. Transparency, legal foresight, and familial understanding should be at the core of such planning. If there’s one final lesson Wigwe’s life can teach us, it’s that building a legacy requires not just vision in life, but preparation for what comes after.

  • Dear The Right Honourable Kemi Badenoch

    Dear The Right Honourable Kemi Badenoch

    I hope this letter meets you in the same unwavering confidence with which you deliver your party’s latest grand vision for immigration reforms. Your recent video was nothing short of a cinematic masterpiece. If Michael Bay ever decides to direct a political thriller on border control, I believe you’ve just auditioned for the lead role, and your chances of getting the role are high given your outstanding performance.

    Your eloquent insistence that your party will “take back control” of immigration was particularly moving. You deserve a special place in heaven for the plan to make it take a whopping fifteen years for an immigrant to become a Briton.

    I also admire your sheer creativity to keep finding new ways to “fix” a system your own party was in charge of for years. It’s almost as if you’re trying to save us from a problem that, mysteriously, seems to have worsened under your watch. How thrilling!

    I must also commend your bold use of the phrase ‘cracking down on abuse’—a term so elastic it can cover everything from stopping human traffickers (fair enough) to making it harder for doctors, carers, and engineers to come here and contribute to an economy already gasping for breath. Genius, really. It takes true vision to frame economic self-sabotage as patriotic duty.

    Your recent video was a tour de force of conviction, selective memory, and good old-fashioned fear-mongering. It’s truly inspiring to see a government so passionately devoted to solving problems of its own creation—like a firefighter who spends years setting blazes and then proudly announces a new initiative to put them out.

    You deserve seven gbosas for your promise to “take back control” of immigration; it was particularly stirring and if I had your forwarding address, I would have delivered bouquet of flowers to your doorstep. It almost felt like I had traveled back in time to 2016, when similar slogans were being thrown around with the same level of enthusiasm and the same lack of tangible results. But no matter! I admire your party’s dedication to keeping the illusion alive. In many ways, this new plan is like a reboot of an old franchise—slightly different special effects, but the same tired plot.

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    I was also struck by your impassioned pledge to “crack down on abuse.” A noble aim, of course. But forgive my curiosity: what kind of “abuse” are we talking about here? The kind where asylum seekers, fleeing war and persecution, dare to ask for refuge in a country that signed international agreements to protect them? Or perhaps the “abuse” of students who come here to study, pay extortionate fees, and contribute billions to the economy only to be told they’re no longer welcome once they’ve served their financial purpose?

    And then, of course, there’s the ever-popular crackdown on low-skilled migrants—a phrase so wonderfully vague that it can be stretched to fit whatever target your party chooses next. It’s always fascinating to see how “low-skilled” suddenly seems to mean anyone who does an essential job. NHS nurses? Care workers? Hospitality staff? Lorry drivers? Builders? All apparently too unskilled to warrant a place in Britain, despite the country grinding to a halt without them. I can only assume that if we apply this logic consistently, MPs with no real-world experience beyond political internships might also be classified as “low-skilled” and asked to leave?

    Naturally, though, I’m sure these new restrictions won’t apply to all migrants. Those with offshore bank accounts, inherited wealth, or a penchant for making generous donations to certain political parties will, of course, remain free to come and go as they please. After all, we wouldn’t want to discourage all immigration—just the kind that involves people actually working for a living.

    What I find particularly masterful about your messaging is the way it seamlessly blends crisis and control. On one hand, we are told that immigration is out of control, a dire emergency requiring immediate, drastic action. On the other, your government insists that it is in command, making bold and effective decisions. Which is it, I wonder? Either you are in control, and this crisis is manufactured for political gain, or you are not in control, in which case—after 14 years in power—whose fault is that, exactly?

    I hope you will take a moment to reflect on your contributions. Perhaps you will smile as you recall the day you boldly declared that institutional racism is a fantasy concocted by malcontents. Maybe you will chuckle at the time you heroically defended the right of Britain to never, ever apologise.

    But should a flicker of doubt creep in on whether or not your legacy will be remembered with admiration or incredulity, fear not. History, after all, is just a matter of perspective. And thanks to you, we now know which perspective truly matters.

    Finally, I would like to extend my deepest admiration for your party’s ability to turn a crisis of your own making into a never-ending campaign slogan. The sheer resilience!

    Looking forward to the next episode of ‘Tough on Immigration, Soft on Solutions’, which you are professionally producing, directing and presenting.

  • Tragedies in the air

    Tragedies in the air

    Fate held its breath as America and Nigeria teetered on the edge of tragedy in the dawning days of January. A United Airlines flight, bound from Lagos to Washington, D.C., found itself in the cruel grip of mechanical failure. The engine faltered, and the sky, once a promise of safe passage, turned into a stage for peril.

    The return to Lagos was anything but smooth. A tempest of turbulence tossed the aircraft, shaking the resolve of those on board. Fear gripped the cabin, prayers filled the air, and some passengers, bruised by the ordeal, would later seek medical care. More than two hundred souls—mothers, fathers, children, and lovers—were at the mercy of a failing machine and the unwavering skill of its crew.

    Had fate not relented, had the aircraft not found its way back to solid ground, the world would have woken to wails of mourning. Parents would have lost their children, children their parents; wives would have been widowed, and husbands left bereft. The weight of such sorrow would have been unspeakable.

    But mercy prevailed. The wheels kissed the Lagos tarmac, and a tragedy was averted. The world moved on, speculating about how close the sky had come to swallowing its own.

    Nigeria was saved, but America has since suffered plane accidents. Not one. Not two. These aviation disasters in America remind us that despite our technological advancements, the sky remains a precarious domain. The series of incidents in early 2025—a mid-air collision over Washington, D.C., a taxiing mishap in Seattle, a devastating medical jet crash in Philadelphia, and a missing aircraft in Alaska—paint a sobering picture of risk, human error, and the delicate balance between control and catastrophe. But beyond the headlines and statistics lie human stories—of lives interrupted, families shattered, and a deep yearning for answers.

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    The tragedy of American Eagle Flight 5342’s mid-air collision with a U.S. Army UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter over Washington D.C. was a shocking reminder that even in heavily monitored airspace, disaster can strike. The crash, which claimed dozens of lives, underscores the immense complexity of coordinating civilian and military flights. Are American air traffic control systems robust enough to prevent such calamities? Should military and civilian aviation be more strictly separated? These are questions that demand immediate reflection.

    Similarly, the taxiing accident at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, while not fatal, highlights a different vulnerability: the chaos of ground operations. Passengers aboard the Japan Airlines plane recall the sickening jolt as their aircraft struck a Delta Air Lines plane.

    As airports grow busier, incidents like this serve as warnings that congestion and communication lapses can lead to costly and dangerous errors. It’s a call for renewed investment in automated traffic management and enhanced pilot training on the tarmac.

    Perhaps the most heartbreaking of these incidents was the crash of a medical jet in Philadelphia—a flight meant to save a child’s life but which instead ended in tragedy. It is a grim irony that air ambulances, which exist to provide urgent medical care, are vulnerable to the same risks as commercial aircraft. While mechanical failure, weather conditions, or human error could have contributed to the accident, the event raises concerns about whether regulations governing medical flights are stringent enough to mitigate these risks.

    The disappearance of a Bering Air Cessna Caravan over Alaska brings yet another chilling reminder that aviation remains subject to nature’s whims. The plane has since been found and all on board are dead.

    Flying in remote and harsh conditions increases the likelihood of fatal accidents, and while search and rescue efforts are underway, the reality is that unpredictable weather and vast, isolated landscapes make such missions difficult. It is a wake-up call for further advancements in aircraft tracking, emergency location beacons, and pilot preparedness for extreme conditions.

    Each of these incidents, distinct in cause but united in consequence, forces us to reevaluate the illusion of safety we attach to air travel. Do regulatory bodies need to reassess aviation safety protocols? Are we over-reliant on automation at the expense of human oversight? Should pilot training programmes be restructured to address the evolving risks of modern aviation?

    In the wake of the tragic mid-air collision near Washington, D.C., on January 29, which claimed 67 lives, President Donald Trump attributed the disaster to diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives within the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), arguing that such policies compromised the quality of air traffic controllers. He criticised previous administrations for prioritising diversity over merit, stating, “We must only accept the best and the brightest in positions of safety.”

    His comments drew sharp criticism. Former Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg denounced them as “despicable”, emphasizing the need for leadership over baseless accusations. Representative Ilhan Omar condemned Trump’s remarks as “disgusting, racist, and sexist”, arguing that they unfairly scapegoat minorities and women without evidence.

    Moreover, analysis have pointed out that some of the DEI policies Trump criticised were implemented during his own administration. For example, a 2019 FAA initiative aimed to expand air traffic control career opportunities for individuals with disabilities.

    Beyond his critique of DEI policies, Trump proposed a sweeping overhaul of the U.S. air traffic control system. He called for the development of a state-of-the-art computerised system to replace the nation’s aging infrastructure, citing staffing shortages and technological deficiencies as critical concerns. Trump expressed his intent to collaborate with lawmakers and technology leaders, including experts from Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency, to modernise the system.

    These tragedies are not just statistics—they are a call to action. As the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) and the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) investigate these cases, their findings must translate into meaningful reform. Safety in the skies should not be reactive but proactive, a principle embedded into every decision made within the aviation industry.

    My final take: While we mourn the lives lost to the American air tragedies, extend our sympathies to those affected, we acknowledge that despite America’s supposed mastery of the air, passengers are forever at its mercy. Behind every flight number is a human story, and it is the duty of the authorities to ensure that the lessons learned from these tragedies are not in vain.

  • Our Amaechi, our El-Rufai and ‘ganusi’

    Our Amaechi, our El-Rufai and ‘ganusi’

    Once upon a time—a time not so far away—in the grand Federal Republic of Nigeria, two noble statesmen, Sir Rotimi Amaechi and Quantity Surveyor Nasir El-Rufai, played prominent roles in government. Ameachi was Minister of Transportation for eight years. El-Rufai was Kaduna State governor. Also for eight years. Before then, he was Minister of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT). Amaechi had been governor and House of Assembly Speaker. Not in just any state, but Rivers, one of Nigeria’s wealthiest states. He was Speaker for eight years. And governor for eight years, too.

    As Minister of Transportation, Amaechi was entrusted with a sacred mission: to deliver the people from the tyranny of broken locomotives and more. Under Ameachi, Nigeria had the best transportation facilities in the whole of Africa. No. It is actually in the whole world.

    What he did with the rail system is enough reason for the gates of heaven to be flung open for him. Such a stunning performance. Thanks to him every hamlet in Nigeria was linked by train, and not just any kind of trains, but the types even China, the United States and the United Kingdom are yet to see.

    Under his watch, Nigerians were able to have access to buses run on compressed gas. Traffic disappeared on our roads and everything about transportation went smoothly and many were looking forward to him becoming the president and making the dollar and Naira to be at par.

    With a golden mandate from the sovereign of the land, he delivered an era of transportation transformation, armed with ribbons for groundbreaking ceremonies and an unshakable belief in the power of Chinese loans.

    Under his stewardship, the nation’s railway system experienced a miraculous resurrection. All ancient iron tracks, long abandoned to the gods of rust and neglect, were suddenly adorned with gleaming locomotives that whistled their arrival like heralds of prosperity. True, some of these locomotives were already past their prime, having served diligently in lands far, far away—but who dared complain when progress had finally arrived?

    The people watched in awe as grand promises flew faster than the Abuja-Kaduna train, though sometimes they too were derailed by unfortunate “banditry” and occasional fuel shortages. “Fear not,” the Minister declared, “for we shall install security cameras!” And when it was revealed that the cameras had no means of storage, he comforted the people with reassurances of future plans and unbreakable determination.

    Don’t mind Hadiza Bala Usman, Amaechi did wonders at the ports. He killed corruption before corruption could kill the ports. He was so wonderful that his records would never be broken, records so sparkling that America, China, the United Kingdom and the rest of the developed world are still studying. Universities such as Harvard and Oxford have case studies on him about how best to run a country’s transportation sector. Because of his feat, he now needs no visa or passport to travel anywhere. He is like the King of England.

    As his tenure drew to a close, the noble minister stood tall, surveying the legacy of a transportation revolution. The trains no longer broke down, ticketing systems no longer suspect, and the nation’s ports moved at the speed of a lightning.

    And so, even about two years after Sir Rotimi bid farewell to his post, the people raise their voices—not in complaint, but in gratitude for the lessons learnt: that governance is about vision, speeches are more powerful than speedometers and, sometimes, the journey matters more than the destination.

    How can I forget Amaechi’s time as governor in Rivers? Olusegun Obasanjo as President didn’t want Amaechi as Peter Odili’s successor so he declared that his victory at the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) had a k-leg and his way of correcting the k-leg was to give this victory to his relative, Sir Celestine Omehia. But, because power knows no blood, Amaechi fought all the way to the Supreme Court and an unprecedented judgment made him governor. Well, that is not important. What is important is what he did as governor: He gave Rivers a metro rail system that looks rusty but is the pride of the entire universe. I will not elaborate, but encourage you to visit Rivers and see for yourself.

    Enough of Amaechi. Let’s turn to his colleague in the ever-dramatic theatre of Nigerian politics, the diminutive giant—Nasir El-Rufai, a man of grand visions and even grander controversies, a technocrat-turned-politician, the ultimate disruptor, a master of reforms (or, depending on whom you ask, a master of controlled demolition).

    El-Rufai’s career reads like a well-scripted Nollywood film—full of plot twists, expulsions, demolitions, and the occasional tweets that sent the political class into a frenzy. As Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, he saw Abuja as a canvas and wielded the bulldozer like an artist, sweeping away “illegal” structures with the grace of a wrecking ball. The city had to be sanitised, and who better to do it than a man unbothered by the cries of displaced citizens? Progress, after all, requires sacrifice—especially when it’s not yours to make.

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    Then came Kaduna, a state that had known its fair share of trouble but had not, until his arrival, experienced the full might of “reform.” As governor, he fancied himself an enlightened ruler, an intellectual with a vision too advanced for the common folk. Civil servants became casualties of efficiency, traditional rulers lost their thrones in the name of restructuring, and anyone who questioned his policies found themselves on the wrong side of governance.

    Security? A mere inconvenience. Bandits roamed freely, making Kaduna the Wild West of Nigeria, but El-Rufai’s government had bigger priorities—like ensuring that teachers could pass primary school exams, even if it meant firing thousands of them in one fell swoop. A minor sacrifice for the greater good, surely?

    Ever the Twitter warrior, El-Rufai was never one to shy away from verbal duels. He wielded 280 characters like a swordsman, striking down critics with sarcasm sharper than a herder’s machete. He had a particular distaste for “big men” who opposed him, often reminding them of his own “integrity”—a term he defined with creative flexibility.

    As his tenure ended, whispers filled the air about his next move. Would he return as a minister? Would he finally settle his long-running feud with the Nigerian Senate, which once declared him “unconfirmable”? Or would he retreat into the shadows, content with his legacy as the man who governed with an iron fist and a tweet?

    One thing remains certain—El-Rufai’s name will not fade into oblivion. Love him or loathe him, he is a force of nature, a paradox of intellect and controversy, a man who could build with one hand and (mischief makers claim) demolish with the other. The bulldozer may have parked, but the echoes of its destruction will linger for years to come.

    Some troublemakers claim that Amaechi and El-Rufai have been critical of the Bola Tinubu administration due to their lack of access to “ganusi”. Maybe. Maybe not.

    My final take: Because of their pedigrees, our Amaechi and El-Rufai are over-qualified to give lectures on leadership, not to commoners but to global players in the First World. They are the quintessential leaders, Nigeria’s jewels on the mountain top, fountains of knowledge, citadels of capacity and capability, and our iroko and obeche.

  • Yesterday is alive today

    Yesterday is alive today

    Picture this: A convoy of unmarked vehicles moves silently through a quiet suburban neighbourhood in Houston, Texas. Suddenly, the stillness is broken as Texas troopers, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents, clad in tactical gear emblazoned with “ICE,” swiftly exit the vehicles. They approach the car park in a shopping mall and pandemonium ensues.

    This has become not uncommon all over America since Donald J Trump returned to the most popular house the world over, the White House. Its last occupant, Joe Biden, wanted Trump far away from this all-important house for reasons such as this. Against all odds, Trump got it and since his swearing-in, America and the world know that a new Sheriff is in this house that is not ordinary. Undoing Biden’s legacy, he has shown, is a task that must be done.

    Biden was the one who stopped him from winning re-election and made him yesterday’s man. Now, yesterday’s man is back as today’s man and is bringing back things of yesterday, things we thought belonged to the past.

    In just a few days, we have seen clear signs that we are back in the era of unnecessary rancour, harsh immigration policies, denigration of the developing world, and going against traditional allies. It is like a return to his first four years and some believe it would be worse.

    On day one, he signed executive orders sanctioning mass deportations of anyone in the U.S. illegally, cancelling birthright citizenship for the children of undocumented or non-permanent immigrants, instructing the Justice Department not to enforce TikTok ban for 75 days, eliminating all federal government DEI programmes, recognising only male and female genders, upending a Biden-era rule that allowed passport applicants to state their gender as “X”, implementing a federal hiring freeze, terminating remote work arrangements and withdrawing the United States from the World Health Organisation, citing a “mishandling of the Covid-19 pandemic”.

    Workers in the federal diversity programme are on forced leave and their fate hangs in the balance. Trump says the programme is anti-merit.

    His order on birthright citizenship is markedly against the American Constitution. Already over a dozen states have dragged him to court over that. I doubt if any court will overrule the constitution to please Trump so I believe that it is just a matter of time before this is thrown out and everyone born in America continues to enjoy this right.

    Deportation has already started and military aircraft have been used for this exercise. Colombia, one of the nations whose citizens were among the first to be targeted, initially refused to allow US military aircraft to land on its soil and deposit deportees and thus incurred Trump’s wrath. Visa restrictions were imposed on its officials and more punishments were expected, including tariff hikes on Colombian products coming into America. These forced Colombia to back down and allowed the deportees.

    What Colombia faced is a warning of what fate awaits any nation that refuses to allow Trump dump deportees on its soil.

    His withdrawal of the US from the WHO will surely have negative effects on the developing world. America contributed $ 1.284 billion between 2022 and 2023. For decades, it has been a leading donor. Now, Germany, Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, GAVI, European Commission, United Kingdom, Canada, Rotary International, Japan and France have to cover the shortfall if dire consequences are to be avoided.

    Trump’s first term was a tempest of trouble-making, not a haven for troubleshooting. He wove discord into the fabric of his presidency, sparring with nearly everyone and befriending few. His inner circle brimmed with white supremacists and those who prospered under his policies, while many African Americans felt cast into the shadows. Europe, once an ally, became estranged. Africa he dismissed with crude disdain, branding it a “shithole”, while treating China with the suspicion reserved for outcasts.

    Immigrants became the scapegoats of his rhetoric—targets of both misgiving and mockery. Mexicans, in particular, bore the brunt of his contempt, with barriers rising as symbols of division. Families were sundered by an immigration policy so heartless it drew the ire of a nation; over 500 children, as The New York Times reported, were adrift, their parents deported to the unknown, the bonds of family severed by bureaucratic neglect.

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     In his first term, defiance of Trump brought swift retribution. Cross him, and the verbal lash would not spare you. Reporters bore the brunt of his ire, as press conferences devolved into arenas of recrimination. CNN, in his lexicon, meant “fake news,” while The New York Times, The Washington Post, and even Fox News—once a loyal ally—were cast as villains when they no longer served his ends. Loyalty, to Trump, was a transient virtue. Only his interests stood eternal, and betrayal, real or imagined, earned scorn dressed in the sharpest language.

    He eroded long-standing alliances, weakening NATO and provoking allies, while heaping admiration upon autocrats such as Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un. The era was unprecedented, a watershed moment in American history. Some claim it was a mistake never to be repeated but, in the capricious tides of democracy, absolutes are rare. Even fools, when cloaked in populism, can ascend to power, and the dance of history rarely offers guarantees.

    White supremacists reveled in the freedom of his tenure, unshackled from shame. Their hubris culminated in the January 6 Capitol riot—a nadir of madness and a stain on the nation’s history. They chanted for blood, demanded the heads of Vice President Pence and Speaker Pelosi, and shattered the sanctity of democracy’s chamber. Among them were law enforcement officers, active-duty military, and veterans—symbols of the very order they defied. The Capitol now stands guarded by towering barriers and the watchful eyes of the National Guard, a fortress against the chaos unleashed by those who sought to upend the republic.

    Yet, his first term was not without achievements. Trump reshaped the judiciary, seating three Supreme Court justices and over 200 federal judges. He delivered sweeping tax cuts for corporations, spurring economic growth that rivaled the Obama years and drove unemployment to historic lows—before the pandemic swept these gains away. On the global stage, he normalised relations between Israel and four Arab neighbours, and drew down U.S. forces in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Syria. But as one commentator noted, these feats were “dwarfed by what Trump got wrong”.

    In this fresh term, the economy is expected to do better and prices of commodities significantly reduced.

    My final take: Except for a few tough changes here and there, the White House under Trump will ensure that its diplomacy is not just about saving the world, but also about making it have access to overseas economies, fossil fuels, mineral resources and the blue economy. He will still maintain the tradition that uses treaties and deals to ensure America has easy markets for its goods abroad, and will also see to it that the World Bank and such America-promoted financial institutions champion what is in America’s interest.