OTHERS' VIEWS

OTHERS' VIEWS

It feels so surreal that I am writing Aniefiok’s eulogy. Ani and I were born in the same year –just four months apart; grew up in the same town; attended the same secondary school and university and lived in Lagos at the same time. We were your typical childhood friends, and so I took it for granted that we would grow old together. My heart is heavy and I’m so shattered, pained and disconcerted. The agony, anguish and sorrow are too deep to describe. We had known each other right from childhood, but our friendship actually started in late October 1979 when we bumped into each other at the bookshop of University of Nigeria, Nsukka. ‘’So, you are here’’, we said to each other simultaneously. He had just arrived the campus that day to begin a course of study in Mechanical Engineering, and I had arrived two weeks or so earlier. There and then began a lifelong friendship that brought our two families together.

  Ani is one of the most generous; amiable; affable and good-natured persons I have ever known. He was indeed a visionary who lived a life of purpose and faith. A loving husband and doting father and grandfather, he gave and loved generously; lived with passion and compassion and was driven by an insatiable urge to leave a positive impact and legacy. He was a community leader in the true sense of the word that brought his extended family together and led his community in Akwa Ibom State in warmth, love and peace. Ani was a man of deep faith who contributed generously to build his church in Lagos, Uyo and many other cities in Nigeria – the same church in which his father and father-in-law were elders; the same church in which he met and married his wife of almost 40 years.

His scholarship scheme for unprivileged children and assistance to widows and to the needy reflect the true essence of his munificence. He was a leading figure in the establishment of a beautiful residential estate in Lekki, Lagos, some 18 years ago, and was working on building a fabrication yard and logistics facility for the oil industry in Akwa Ibom. It’s a project he has been working on in the last 17 years. Unfortunately, he passed just when the dream was to be realized. The more I reflect on his life, the more it dawns on me that Ani is indeed a true manifestation Mathew 5:13. ‘’You are the salt of the earth…’’. Wherever he was, his presence was felt in many positive ways.

Ani’s father, a successful businessman, died while Ani was only 25 and just starting out on his first job at Shell Nigeria. As was expected, Ani had to marry early – at just 26 – and from that early age, he took on responsibilities that many of his coevals could only imagine or read about in novels. He catered for his mother; siblings and of course, his young family. I visited him in Port Harcourt from my base in Lagos late 1988 and spent a few days with him and his wife, Helyn. Nsikak, the first child, was then a baby. I observed with admiration how Ani had transitioned effortlessly into the role of a family man with many responsibilities. He took me around PH and to his office at TransAmadi. I noted that he was still his jovial, humorous and witty self. He did not wear the usual grumpy look of a man weighed down by life’s burdens; and throughout the following decades, I can’t remember seeing Ani get angry, indulge in self pity, or wallow in incessant complaints and discontents. He lived a life of contentment, grateful for God’s abundant blessings, acknowledging the inevitability of the many twists and turns of life, but always full of hope and enthusiasm. I won’t forget his jokes, laughter and conviviality.

Ani relocated to Lagos from PH in early 1990s, and we got closer and closer; and even after relocating abroad since 2015, distance wasn't a barrier. Naturally, longstanding close friends have one or two things they learn from, or admire in each other. Even before I got married, I learned from Ani the importance of building a peaceful and happy home and admired his ability to learn new things, seek knowledge, unlearn and relearn. I learned a lot about Nigeria’s secretive oil industry from him. It was the subject matter of our discussions the day before he passed. He was very fond of my columns and read them quite avidly, commending quite faithfully. Ani loved Nigeria and despite its many imperfections, he never denigrated the country as is common in the Diaspora community. Instead, he was obsessed with what he could do to make it a better place.

Now, to Helyn, Nsikak, Udeme and Amanti; and all of the Udott Clan, I know that this is a very painful loss. I pray for God’s mercy and guidance for all of you.

 

ETIM,a journalist, is the publisher & editor-in-chief of Policy and Politics (www.policyandpolitics.com.ng)

Last modified on Thursday, 08 May 2025 15:04

The President of the African Development Bank (AfDB), Akinwunmi Adesina, ruffled presidential feathers on Monday when he said in a speech during the 20th Anniversary dinner of the financial services company, Chapel Hill Denham, that Nigerians were better off in 1960 than they are today.

The Special Adviser to the President (Information & Strategy), Bayo Onanuga, immediately disagreed, saying that Adesina used a narrow, perhaps one of the most contested metrics, to measure the country’s progress. Both Adesina and Onanuga were right and wrong.

What’s in a measure?

Gross Domestic Product (GDP), the most common measure of the size of an economy, measures the size of goods and services produced by that economy in a given period, usually annually.

For nearly 10 years after Nigeria rebased its economy in 2014 by including swathes of the economy previously excluded from the calculation, mainly IT, telecoms, and music, the country ranked as Africa’s largest economy.

We walked with a swagger and a spring in our steps. Until recently, when the tide turned and Nigeria slipped to number four, behind South Africa, Egypt and Algeria, any argument about the adequacy of GDP as an accurate measure of economic well-being would have been dismissed, especially in official circles.

One-handed economists

Yet, the GDP is accurate in what it measures, irrespective of Onanuga’s discomfort. Of course, economists, never one-handed as Harry Truman famously said, may disagree on the best model. Still, they have yet to find a more precise measure of a country’s total goods and services, a rough guide to economic status, than the GDP.

What Adesina did in his lecture, “Reimagining Nigeria by 2050,” was not only to compare Nigeria’s GDP in 1960 with what it currently is, but also to put that side by side with the performance of South Korea, which was at roughly the same position as Nigeria 65 years ago.

What he didn’t do, by the way, was to re-imagine what Nigeria’s GDP might have been today if he kept his promise as Nigeria’s Agriculture minister between 2011 and 2015, to popularise “cassava bread!”

GDP vs GDP per capita

The GDP per capita of all seven countries Adesina cited in his lecture were African, from Ghana ($2,260) to Botswana ($7,820), compared with Nigeria’s ($1,596). It’s not unusual that whereas Nigeria’s economy is the fourth largest on the continent, its GDP per capita is lower than Ghana’s, for example.

While the GDP measures the total volume of goods and services produced, GDP per capita divides the volume by the population. Regarding manufacturing, a key GDP component, Adesina mentioned Malaysia and Vietnam, which started in the same place as Nigeria, but have left us far behind. These examples are uncomfortable, but true.

The GDP is measured in the currency of the country in question, but converted to US dollars when comparing the value of the goods and services produced between or among nations. That means after the naira devaluation by 250 percent, for example, Nigeria’s GDP ranking was bound to fall.

Low or high?

Are there countries with relatively high GDP per capita and yet a low standard of living? Yes. Equatorial Guinea and Gabon, for example, have relatively high GDPs due to oil wealth and small populations, but score low on most quality of life indicators because of poor governance and weak institutions.

And vice versa, low-GDP countries like Costa Rica and Portugal have a higher standard of living because of strong social programmes, good education and safety measures. Yet of the 20 countries with the highest GDP by the IMF 2025 projections, there is none with rampant poverty. 

Beyond measure

Onanuga was right to contest the use of the GDP, because, to modify Albert Einstein, some things count that cannot be counted by the GDP – things like health, education, equality, governance, trust, and the quality of life. Onanuga listed a few things in his rejoinder, such as road infrastructure, which he said Adesina’s paper had omitted.

It did not. It emphasised GDP as a measure of performance, and we may disagree with the adequacy of this metric. However, the paper also strongly argued that aggressive and well-thought-out investment in infrastructure such as power, health, agriculture, seaports, and airports with a clear and transparent governance structure can guarantee Nigeria a secure future.

Are you better off?

With two years to the next general elections, I understand Onanuga’s concern that a portrayal of Nigeria’s long-gone past as better than its present is politically fraught. Elections have been lost and won on the fundamental question: Are you better off than you were four years ago?

However, Adesina’s views about Nigeria in 1960 will not matter to voters in two years because they will not hold the government of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu accountable for the time when Nigeria’s population was around 45 million and each of its three main regions enjoyed relative autonomy. Nor will they hold Tinubu responsible for 2050 because he would not be in office then.

In two years, Nigerians will ask themselves if their lives have improved in the last four years of the Tinubu government. It’s a question that strips economics of its jargon, whether GDP or HDI, and goes straight to bread-and-butter issues.

In the long run…

If President Joe Biden’s claim of a better life for Americans, even though essentially statistically correct, was insufficient to save him, then the Tinubu administration must roll up its sleeves.

GDP or not, Onanuga’s rejoinder will not avert the question of whether Nigerians feel better off. This government’s difficult decisions in the last two years should have been taken decades ago. The consequences of these decisions, however, especially the removal of the petrol subsidy and floating the exchange rate, not to mention the insecurity, have made many worse off.

Of course, Abuja can argue that the hardship is global and that the temporary difficulties will produce a better future. But as economists say, in the long run, we’re all dead.

Living it!

For the government to be rewarded for the courage of its tough decisions, the public, especially voters, does not need to be reminded that they now have more phone lines or road networks as a measure of progress. Many more must be able to live above the current misery of begging to recharge their phones, to pay fare for unsafe roads, or ransom for loved ones.

Nigerians are poorer today, not because comparative GDP figures from 1960 tell them, or because a more robust indicator could have made any difference. They live it.

The currency has been devalued by 250 percent in two years, the value of savings has depleted, the cost of essential services has risen by 113 percent, and the cost of borrowing has increased from 18.5 percent in 2023 to 27.5 percent because of the crowding-out effect.

White cat, black cat

Whatever the indicators, this is the reality Nigerians are living, the story Tinubu was voted to change. Governors are getting more money and should account for it. Still, with more of them defecting to the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC), the party will have much more to answer for what it is doing to lessen the collective misery. Also, the significant issues in the macroeconomy (primarily inflation) and security are squarely on the Federal Government’s plate.

There’s still some time to fix things, but like Deng Xiaoping said about dealing with an emergency, it’s not the colour or description of the economic indicator that matters, as long as the cat of our current misery catches mice.

Nigeria’s battle against corruption has reached a critical junction—one where traditional legal mechanisms have proven woefully inadequate. Despite high-profile arrests, media parades, and countless court appearances, the likes of former Governors Abdulfatah Ahmed, Willie Obiano, Yahaya Bello, Darius Ishaku, and Theodore Orji continue to roam freely, basking in the glow of political privilege while their corruption cases crawl through the judicial system. It is as if the accusations against them are mere whispers, drowned out by the noise of political influence and judicial delays.

Premium Times Nigeria has done a remarkable service by keeping these cases in the public eye, refusing to let these men walk freely as if their hands are clean. Their reporting is a bold reminder that justice delayed is not just justice denied—it is justice mocked. But reminders are not enough. It is time to adopt drastic measures, to treat corruption not just as a legal crime but as a national psychological disorder.

Let us now imagine what this “Mental Forensic Temporal Lock-Up Unit” could mean—not as abstract satire, but as a serious institutional policy born out of desperation, necessity, and deep-rooted national trauma. In a country where the legal system has been captured, and where elite criminals endlessly recycle themselves through legal gymnastics, we must admit a hard truth: standard criminal justice has failed to treat elite corruption as a national mental disorder. These are not isolated cases of theft—they are possible patterns of pathological behavior, performed with detached precision, emotionless entitlement, and a total absence of shame. Therefore, the country must now shift from asking how to punish them to asking how to contain and recondition them.

 

Reimagining Justice: A Psychological Containment System

The Mental Forensic Temporal Lock-Up Unit is not a conventional prison. It is a hybrid model—a therapeutic, cognitive, and ethical quarantine zone for individuals who have been identified through forensic audits, financial investigations, and sworn testimonies as serial looters of public funds. These individuals would be removed from public space and subjected to a compulsory sequence of psychological evaluations, diagnostic profiling, and behavioral accountability mechanisms. This is not a place of brutality, but of institutional deactivation—where their access to public office, media platforms, and influence is terminated, and their ego dismantled through a controlled therapeutic process.

This is not revenge; it is a moral quarantine, a civic duty to isolate those whose corruption has metastasized into a national disorder. They would not be allowed to enjoy “retirement” in wealth; instead, they would enter civic confinement—a space between freedom and imprisonment, between guilt and rehabilitation.

 

Psychological Framework: Diagnosing Corruption as a Disorder

The idea that corruption can be viewed through a psychological lens is not far-fetched. I did not evaluate any of these criminal suspects, so I cannot say if any of them have criminal pathology. But in psychological terms, the behavior exhibited by many of these political figures aligns with Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD) and Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). Key characteristics include:

Lack of empathy or remorse for the consequences of their actions.

 

Inflated sense of entitlement and self-importance.

Pathological lying and manipulation to maintain power and status.

Disregard for the rights of others—evident in their siphoning of public funds meant for community development.

 

The Mental Forensic Temporal Lock-Up Unit would operate similarly to therapeutic containment used in the treatment of individuals with pathological criminal behavior.

Here, these political figures would be subjected to:

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) to address distorted thinking patterns that justify corruption.

 

Moral Reconation Therapy (MRT) to rebuild ethical and moral reasoning.

Group Accountability Sessions where their actions are dissected, analyzed, and criticized in front of peers and civic educators.

The goal is to deconstruct their rationalizations—the false beliefs that stealing public funds is a right of office, that evading justice is a symbol of power, and that corruption is merely part of political life.

 

Institutional Quarantine: Containing the Enablers

If we can’t jail them in conventional cells, then we must morally isolate them—psychologically, socially, and institutionally. This is not a call for extrajudicial revenge, but for institutional quarantine. And while we focus on the primary offenders, should we also not expand the lock-up model to include their enablers?

Should deeply compromised Senior Advocates of Nigeria (SANs), corrupt judges, and facilitators of judicial delay not be institutionally quarantined as well?

 

Their role in perpetuating grand corruption is not peripheral—it is central. If proven to have aided the cycle of looting and obstruction, they too must enter the civic lock-up to be studied, exposed, and documented.

These enablers must be treated with the same clinical scrutiny. These are individuals who knowingly weaponize the law against the public interest. The SANs who turn courtrooms into shelters for looters, the judges who twist constitutional technicalities to stall trials for decades, and the clerks who “lose” critical files—these are not passive actors; they are psychological accomplices in a nationwide economic trauma.

Global Precedents: Real-World Examples of Judicial Accountability

 

The idea of isolating corrupt officials is not without precedent.

Truth and Reconciliation Commission (South Africa): In the aftermath of apartheid, South Africa instituted a model of accountability that focused not only on punishment but on exposure and societal reckoning.

Operation Clean Hands (Italy): The Italian judiciary took drastic measures to quarantine corrupt officials during the anti-Mafia campaigns of the 1990s, leading to thousands of prosecutions and societal cleansing.

 

Commission of Inquiry into State Capture (South Africa): Known as the Zondo Commission, it exposed the vast network of corruption involving political figures and corporate entities, leading to public shaming and forced resignations.

Case Studies: The Ex-Governors’ Pathological Corruption and the Need for Forensic Lock-Up

Here, the likes of former Governors Abdulfatah Ahmed of Kwara State, Willie Obiano of Anambra State, Yahaya Bello of Kogi State, Darius Ishaku of Taraba, and Theodore Orji of Abia, whose corruption cases linger through legal manipulation and endless procedural delays, would be prime candidates for the Mental Forensic Temporal Lock-Up. Their trials are emblematic of the rot—an unbroken chain of abuse, arrogance, and systematic theft.

 

These men are not just symbols of corruption; they are case studies in apparent pathological entitlement. They parade around as if their trials are mere inconveniences—some even plotting political comebacks while court dates are endlessly adjourned. For these individuals, conventional justice has proven impotent, crippled by legal entanglements and political shielding. Therefore, their inclusion in this Lock-Up Unit would serve as the necessary psychological and civic quarantine, where their entitlement is dismantled, their rationalizations are documented, and their behavior becomes a case study for future Nigerian leaders.

A Bold Idea, But a Necessary One: A Psychological Insight from Prof. John Egbeazien Oshodi

Yes, these ideas by Psychologist John Egbeazien Oshodi could be seen as extraordinary, but good God, we have got to do it! If Nigeria is to heal, if Nigeria is to reclaim its dignity, the enablers and beneficiaries of grand corruption must be mentally quarantined—studied, documented, and isolated from public influence. This is not about vengeance; it is about national rehabilitation.

I sympathise with former governor Ifeanyi Okowa of Delta State who has suddenly become the poster child for PDP’s self-inflicted afflictions. He is today going through great stress and strain for hearkening to the call of his people for a change of direction after 26 years of faithful marriage to PDP.

The April 23 divorce train was led by Governor Sheriff Oborevwori, his predecessor and PDP’s 2023 vice presidential candidate Ifeanyi Okowa, his deputy, the elected national and state house of assembly members as well as elected local council officials.

The justification for the mass defection was well articulated by various stakeholders. First was the Delta State Commissioner for Works (Rural Roads) and Public Information, Mr Charles Aniagwu, who explained that the decision to jilt the PDP was born out of “the need to align with a political platform that would better serve the development goals of the state and the interests of Deltans.”

There was also the pioneer PDP Chairman in the state, Senator James Manager, who reminded critics that “when a ship is sinking, you don’t stay onboard out of sentiment,” adding, “we had extensive consultations, and today marks the climax of those discussions, what we have now is a collective and unanimous decision to chart a new course.”

And for OKowa , the one receiving various diatribes from PDP members who rather than put out the raging inferno in their own house engaged in a two-year game of intrigue over sharing of political offices, the defection to the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) was “a bold and strategic move to change their path for the common good of the people; it was not about the governor, but the fact that there is the need for us to connect to Abuja… that resource of which Delta State is a large contributor, there was a need to connect to it.”

 

And perhaps no one explained the defection better than Governor Sheriff Oborevwori himself. “Ten years was too long a time to be in opposition,” he bellowed to an excited crowd of defectors. He was right. Peoples of Niger Delta have always been mainstreamers since the run up to independence in 1960. We will come to that shortly.

Okowa shouted himself hoarse explaining it was not about him but about his people. But there has been no respite from his disconsolate PDP former family members who shouted in anger: “You too Brutus”? They have accused him of betraying the body that has given him everything to become relevant in Nigerian politics. As a former secretary to government, a senator of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, and a two-term governor of oil rich Delta, where leaders spend money like water, and finally as vice presidential candidate of PDP that had after its truncated 16 years in power hoped to reign for another 60 years, what else does Okowa want, they asked with uninhibited contempt.

At war with Okowa is a formidable group of his former PDP members who are unfortunately tarred with the same brush.  Former Senate President Saraki who in the guise of “some people” first accused his former APC party of disingenuously designing “A one-party state which will not augur well for a multi-ethnic, multi-lingual, multicultural, multi-religious… society like ours,” went on to tell Okowa that “it is unbecoming and shocking for the running mate to the standard bearer of a leading party to abandon ship to join the ruling party.”

Senator Abba Moro, the minority leader of the senate, has said picking Okowa who could not deliver his state in the 2023 election, despite having lobbied for the slot, was “a political miscalculation.”

But Okowa, drawing his conclusion from Atiku’s statement, insisted the VP slot was foisted on him, without first seeking his consent, by PDP oligarchy at the centre. But as it turned out, Atiku who said Okowa’s choice was based on PDP’s recommendation was also being economical with the truth. Evidence now in the public domain showed that, of the 17 PDP stalwarts that participated in the VP selection process, 14 voted for Wike. Atiku’s calculation for picking Okowa was probably informed by the expectation that the governor of an oil-rich Delta, who earned in one month what some states earn in a year, would be able to bankroll his (Atiku) campaign expenses the same way Ibori was said to have done for Yar’adua in 2007.

And this unfortunately was the reason Okowa’s travails started long before the current toxic divorce of Delta PDP from its suitor of 26 years. Indeed, long before the 2023 election, Pa Clark, the leader of Pan Niger Delta Forum, (PANDEF) and Southern and Middle-Belt Leaders Forum (SMBLF), had in a letter dated February 2, 2023, accused Okowa of betrayal for reneging on southern governors’ resolutions that no politician from the South should accept to be running mate to a northerner.

Pa Clark alleged Okowa was using Delta State money to fund Atiku’s campaign. But since it was Pa Clark who also told us that Ibori funded Yar’adua’s election, why was it difficult for Pa Clark to understand that poor OKowa was merely following a tradition? And if, indeed, Okowa actually used part of the 13 percent derivation to build a university in his village the same way Ibori deployed the same facility to build a university in Oghara village, I don’t think Okowa owed Pa Clark any apology.

 

And finally, Pa Clark, in June 2023, alleged that Okowa as governor of Delta misappropriated the state’s derivation fund amounting to N1.760trillion.

But If I have to make a choice between Okowa and Pa Clark, I will settle for the former. First, until EFCC proves its case against Okowa, he remains innocent. Secondly, Pa Clark is not an impartial arbiter among his errant children some of whom in the guise of struggle for distributive justice engage in criminal activities against the state.

In any case, Pa Clark, while alive, knew the word corruption did not exist in the Niger Delta lexicon. It is not on record that he contradicted Augustus Aikhomu, Babangida’s deputy, when he declared that “diversion of resources meant for development was not corruption but “misapplication of funds.” We similarly don’t have any evidence that Pa Clark, as self-appointed “father of the President,” ever faulted President Jonathan’s assertion that “stealing government funds was not corruption.”

For Deltans, allegations against or even indictments of leaders who swear by their names for financial malfeasance only endear them to their leaders. If there were people complaining, they were not short-changed Deltans but must be meddlesome interlopers.

Obasanjo and Murtala Mohammed seized some ill-acquired properties of Diete Spiff, who became governor of Rivers at 25. He is today a leading traditional ruler in Bayelsa. Obasanjo chased Diepreye Alamieyeseigha around the world, haunted Odili until he was saved by the judiciary, and after failing to secure the conviction of Ibori by Nigerian courts, took the battle to London where he ensured his conviction for 10 years by the British judiciary.

Unfortunately, his impoverished Deltans were not amused. All those desperate efforts did not stop those whose battle Obasanjo was waging from worshipping Ibori, their hero.

In fact, Ibori was welcomed back to Nigeria after serving his jail term by a tumultuous crowd of his enthusiastic people. There were close to a dozen Bishops in the jam-packed Otefe-Ogara village church during the thanksgiving service for his safe return from prison.

And now let us return to Delta pre-independence resolve to remain ‘mainstreamers.’  Rather than persecution, Okowa deserves only accolades for resurrecting the dreams and aspirations of his people The truth is that Delta has since 1963 never been in opposition.

Having experienced persecution and marginalisation from their more aggressive and more diplomatic Igbo and Yoruba neighbours, they opted to become ‘mainstreamers,’ aligning themselves with the dominant ruling NPC party from the north.

While the Binis and Itshekiris, because of their cultural affinity with the Yoruba, found more accommodation with Awo’s AG, with the NCNC victory after the 1952 regional election and its takeover of Midwest after its creation, the Urhobos, the Ijaws, Isokos etc. found themselves “between the devil and the deep blue sea.” With the advice of minority rights agitators like Pa Clark, they chose to cast their lot with the ruling majority.

Critics must, therefore, understand that Delta’s marriage to PDP between 1999 and 2023 was not out of altruism. It was because PDP provided a fertile ground for their cultural demand and even their licentiousness. What Oborevwori and Okowa are today saying is that Deltans are not obliged to make further sacrifices.

 

Since the Nigerian presidency has devoted itself to responding to every criticism of the government and its administrative failings, it is unsurprising that media aide Bayo Onanuga faulted the recent claim by the outgoing President of the African Development Bank, Akinwumi Adesina, that Nigerians lived a better life in the 1960s going by the GDP per capita. Onanuga argued that Dr Adesina should know that GDP per capita is not the only criterion used to determine whether people live better lives now than in the past. Indeed, it is a poor tool for assessing living standards. Its primary usefulness is in giving us the metrics to compare economic output in a country or between countries. Then he adds that today, as we await the NBS’s recalibration of our GDP, we can comfortably say without contradiction that it is at least 50 times, if not 100 times, more than it was at Independence.

 What Onanuga has done here is to spill a lot of needless ink to arrive at the same spot where he started. If the GDP is not a reliable marker of economic growth and development, why still wait for a favourable NBS figure to contradict Adesina?

 In any case, the two truths that might be operating here might not be mutually contradictory. Statistics can show growth since 1960, while Nigerians qualitatively live far less than they did 60 years ago. On that score, Onanuga is right that numbers are not the only means of scaling a society’s achievements. Figures objectively calculate how an average person lives (or lived) but do not paint the full picture of the internal substance of such a life. If we want to get to the truth, we must also probe social experience. In this case, we can ask the people who lived in the 1960s what their lives were like and how their experience compares to the present.

 Now this is where it gets tricky. If you line up one thousand Nigerians who have lived through the various seasons of the nation’s history and ask them if the country was better in the 1960s, I can bet that there will be far more who would agree that the country used to be better. Why is that so? First, because human memory is prone to recall the past with nostalgia, and that makes for pessimism about the conditions of the present. The human brain is wired to scan the arc of personal history and promote the positive recollections of the past over those of the immediate present. It is sometimes called the declinism bias, and it is not peculiar to Nigerians. You find the echoes of the “good old days” in the “Make America Great Again” politics where a section of United States citizens thinks the old times were better than now when by every parameter, they are a richer and stronger country. 

But in the case of Nigeria, people know what they are saying when they look back wistfully at the past and declare that life used to be better. I have older friends in their 70s, 80s, and 90s. Their recollection of how life used to be in Nigeria sometimes feels like the vision of the Nigeria I would love to see. If they are of the formally educated class, these folks would fondly recall the Nigeria where they received a sound education at all levels. Public schools were not as dilapidated; nobody ever recalls where students sat on the floor in their roofless classrooms. Public education was so good that the children of the elites attended the same schools as everyone else. You could be a poor village boy from rural Igbomina and attend Government College with the children of the powerful. Education was not as cheapened through private schools.

 Those who made it to the university among them would recall receiving an education in the true sense of the word. Nobody needed to go to school abroad; Nigerian universities offered world-class education. They would recall a university system where the hostels were not crammed with students; the facilities worked, and undergraduates lived like actual human beings, unlike the appalling situation that subsists on most campuses. That was, of course, the generation that also had a quarter chicken for lunch on Sundays. People would also recall that fresh university graduates had jobs waiting for them after school, and you could buy a car with your salary. Whether they are educated or not, everyone can recall a time when the country was safe and secure, and one could travel through its length and breadth without fearing abduction by Fulani herdsmen. While the past might not be as picture-perfect as generally painted, there is enough substance in people’s recollections to demonstrate how much we have declined. The Nigeria some of us dream of living in has already been lived out by our forebears, imagine!

 So yes, while the rebased GDP figures will expectedly look better, there is a lot of decline in the quality of our Nigerian life. Why do we even need to go as far as the 1960s to apprehend what has happened to our Nigerian lives? There are closer examples of a lack of progress. We are a country that once produced as much as 7,000MW of electricity in 2014. In 2025 and with multiple grid collapses, we struggle with 5,500MW. The Nigerian population has increased, and with it the demand for electricity, but the supply has only declined. Does anyone really need the GDP per capita to divine how a country that cannot sustain its modest gains would suffer socially and economically? An older relative once told me that the Energy Corporation of Nigeria—the company that supplied power in their youth—used to give an advance notification if there would be a power outage. Tell that to the generation of young Nigerians who have never lived in a world without the crazy hum of a generator bursting through their brains, and they would think you are lying.

Electricity is one aspect; the general state of public infrastructure is another. A generation has never witnessed a Nigeria where public utilities worked. Ask the young person living in Nigeria, where the GDP is supposedly 50 to 100 times better—a la Onanuga—if they know that we used to get water supply from a public water corporation, and they would perhaps be genuinely surprised. Look at places like our hospitals, especially the public ones, where people complement the paltry services they receive there with prayers and tell us how much better we have it. Even our leaders cannot entrust their lives to the public hospitals they fund. The slightest malady, and they are already on their way to France or the UK to receive proper healthcare.

In 2023, I visited the University College Hospital, Ibadan and what I saw there is a story best not told. Yes, the GDP must have multiplied about a hundred times since UCH was first founded in 1952, but nothing in that hospital currently reflects it. You can say the same for every aspect of our Nigerian lives. We have added many more zeroes to our national statistics, but our lives remain internally empty. Whereas countries like China and the UAE that lifted a huge percentage of their population out of poverty do not rely on media aides like Onanuga to sàlàyé progress on social media with spurious figures. Unlike our own situation, their results speak for themselves.

Former governor of Delta State and vice presidential candidate of the Peoples Democratic Party, PDP, in the 2023 elections, Dr. Ifeanyi Okowa, has been in the news in recent times following his defection from the political party that made him a commissioner, secretary to state government, senator and governor, to the ruling All Progressives Congress, APC.

His defection didn’t surprise many. In a clime where politicians stand for nothing because they lack firm moral compass, falling for anything is a natural consequence. It is even more so where political parties are ideologically bankrupt.

But in an effort to ingratiate himself with President Bola Tinubu, Okowa has been making many awkward, if not spurious anti-democracy claims. For instance, on April 29, he patronisingly said Tinubu must complete a phantom “eight-year tenure.”

He said: “I do believe that, yes, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu was elected president in 2023, and for the stability of Nigeria, it is best for us to have him complete his eight-year tenure. Then the presidency can move back to the North.”

It is preposterous for Okowa to talk about Tinubu completing a non-existent eight-year tenure” when he knows full well that we only have a four-year electoral mandate in Nigeria, the reason why elections are held every four years. Even when the Constitution guarantees two terms, that does not translate to an automatic eight-year tenure.

Granted, it is no longer news that Nigerians have a penchant for bastardising even the most pristine of concepts and, therefore, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that we are doing what we know how best: making a mess of democracy even when we are not reinventing its wheels.

But our collective tomfoolery does not detract from idea the idea of democracy which originated from the Greek words “demos”, meaning people, and “kratos” meaning power. So, democracy, simply put, means “power of the people.” It is a governance model that depends solely on the will of the people and in which laws, policies, leadership, and major undertakings of a state are decided by the people directly or indirectly.

Democracy has evolved over the centuries with different models emerging across the world. But that notwithstanding, genuine democracies strive to uphold the core principles of rule by the people, equality and freedom, accountability and transparency, rule of law, periodic fair and free elections where eligible citizens can choose their representatives without let or hindrance.

Election is the oxygen of every democracy because it is a referendum writ large. That is when those in elective political offices and their political parties go back to the electorate with their score cards for them to make the consequential decision of either revalidating the mandate or repudiating same. In which case, a second term becomes a vote of confidence whereas rejection at the polls is a no confidence vote.

But in the last 26 years, Nigerians have watched helplessly as these values are wantonly abused and all democratic guardrails systematically dismantled by those charged with the responsibility of safeguarding them.

The very idea of a democracy is that the people have the ultimate say. In doing that, the basic freedoms of speech, assembly, press, as well as the right to vote must remain sacrosanct. The reverse is the case here and the dismantling of these democracy guardrails is intentional.

To be sure, this anomaly didn’t start with the Tinubu presidency. Olusegun Obasanjo messed up the Fourth Republic democracy particularly with his ill-fated third-term gambit, and ever since, it has been a slippery slope. But Tinubu has worsened the situation in the last two years.

That is why Okowa’s “eight-year tenure” proposition which suggests that the conduct of elections every four years should be of no moment, henceforth, is scary. Why should Tinubu complete “his” eight years when he was elected for a four-year tenure?

Make no mistake, Okowa and his co-travellers on this pseudo-democratic boulevard are not pleading with the electorate to renew Tinubu’s mandate come 2027 because to do so, he must convince the people with his performance in the first four years. Mid-way into his first term, he has failed and there is nothing to show that the remaining two years will be any different.

So, we have moved from Obasanjo’s do-or-die elections. Nigerians are now being blackmailed that unless Tinubu serves out his phantom “eight-year tenure” willy-nilly, national security will no longer be guaranteed. This is a dangerous proposition because the principle of holding periodic elections is an essential element of democracy globally recognised. Article 21 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, adopted by the United Nations General Assembly in 1948, states that “the will of the people shall be the basis of the authority of government; this will shall be expressed in periodic and genuine elections…”

Besides, if Tinubu must serve his “eight-year tenure,” why must we hold elections in 2027? We may well have a single tenure of eight years because every election digs a very deep hole into the national coffers.

For instance, the National Assembly approved a budget of N355 billion for the Independent National Electoral Commission, INEC, for the conduct of the 2023 general election, out of which the sum of N313.4 billion was released as at September 2023 according to INEC’s report of February 24, 2024.

Based on the key activities in the approved Election Project Plan for the 2023 general election, INEC initially proposed a budget of N305 billion – N159.7 billion for electoral operations; N117. 3 billion for electoral technology; N20.4 billion for electoral administrative costs; and N7.4 billion set aside for unforeseen electoral expenses – for the conduct of the elections.

But after the National Assembly appropriated the sum of N303.1 billion, INEC, claiming that the approved amount will no longer be enough due to “the inflation rate and consumer price index as well as the widening differentials in the foreign exchange rate” requested for a N52 billion supplementary appropriation in early 2023.

The electoral umpire said the breakdown of the appropriated amount on the basis of the Average Cost per Registered Voter, ACRV, for the 93,469,008 registered voters in Nigeria was N3,801 (US$6.72) per voter, which it claimed was well within the internationally acceptable Average ACRV of $4 to $8 deemed adequate for the conduct of elections in transitional democracies.

Never mind that at the end, the 2023 general election recorded only 24.9 million (about 26.72 per cent) voter turnout, the lowest since the country’s return to democracy in 1999. So, since the budget was based on ACRV for 93.5 million registered voters and only 24.9 million turned out, what happened to the budget? Shouldn’t the commission return some unspent funds back to state coffers or better still carry over the budget to the next election cycle?

No, that won’t be typical.

Needless to say that the approved budget is aside support from development partners, which even when it does not come in cash, is nevertheless used in defraying costs for services that INEC would have otherwise paid for.

Since then, more funds have been appropriated for INEC by the National Assembly. N40 billion was approved for its 2024 operations. But the INEC Chairman, Prof Mahmoud Yakubu, expressing concern that it was too paltry for shouldering the financial burden of organising 21 bye-elections has proposed a budget of N126 billion for its 2025 operations. In essence, Nigeria continues to pour more money into elections that have increasingly become opaque and fraudulent leading to unprecedented voter apathy.

The 2023 INEC budget was a 62 per cent increase over the N189.2 billion spent for the 2019 elections, which in itself is higher than the N108.8 billion spent in conducting the 2015 elections. So, the more the country spends on elections, the worse the outcomes as was grievously manifest on February 25, 2023, when, despite the colossal sums handed to Yakubu, and despite his very loud assurances, he rewarded Nigerians with the worst elections ever; an uncanny manifestation of a country whose institutions have no commitment to excellence and a people too comfortable with mediocrity.

Only God knows how much INEC will budget for the 2027 elections. It will definitely surpass the half a trillion naira threshold. All that for elections where we have been told beforehand that there are no vacancies, that an incumbent who should be sweating to revalidate his mandate must be allowed to complete his “eight-year tenure” as of right. So, why spend our scarce resources going for elections where “Their Excellences” are already assured of victory no matter what the electorate say? Surely, such monies could be put to better use. Let us have one term of eight years or even 20 years, and save all of us the needless stress and fortune.

In a landmark judgement that could deal with those who lend themselves to electoral malpractices in Nigeria, the Court of Appeal in Calabar last week upheld the conviction of Peter Ogban. The professor of soil science at the University of Calabar was the returning officer in the 2019 Akwa Ibom North West senatorial election, which he attempted to rig in favour of the man who is now our Senate President: Godswill Akpabio. But we must first commend the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) for the quiet way it has been prosecuting otherwise respected academics who were hired on an ad hoc basis for elections which they ended up compromising. Three months ago, Ignatius Uduk, another professor of Human Kinetics at the University of Uyo, was also successfully prosecuted by INEC for his misconduct during the Essien Udim state constituency election where he served as the returning officer in 2019.

Now to the Ogban matter. Akpabio, we all recall, was governor of Akwa Ibom State between 2007 and 2015 on the platform of the then ruling (but now main opposition) Peoples Democratic Party (PDP). After his gubernatorial tenure ended in 2015, he contested for Senate on the platform of the same PDP and won. At the Senate, Akpabio became the Minority Leader. Two years later, he ditched the party for the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) on which ticket he contested the 2019 senatorial election against 10 other candidates, including Christopher Ekpenyong, a former Akwa Ibom State deputy governor, who ran on the PDP platform. At the end, Ekpenyong won with 118,215 votes while Akpabio polled 83,158 votes.

However, before that declaration at the INEC state office in Uyo by Ogban, there had been some unsavoury developments at the Ikot Ekpene senatorial collation centre that led to the intervention of the then Resident Electoral Commissioner (REC) in the state, Mr Mike Igini. The details are in the 25th March 2021 judgement of Justice Augustine D. Odokwo of the Akwa Ibom State High Court, Ikot Ekpene Division—the same judgement affirmed by the Court of Appeal in Calabar last week. In 32 pages and 13788 words, Justice Odokwo laid bare the failed attempt by Ogban to thwart the will of the Akwa Ibom North West senatorial electorate.

With the INEC as complainant, Ogban was arraigned on 15th December 2020 on a two-count charge of fraudulent manipulation of polling results and announcement of fake election results, both punishable under section 123 of the Electoral Act, 2010 (as amended). The summary of the case is that in the process of collating results on 24th February 2019, during which the collation/returning officer for each local government would publicly announce and then tender original copy, Ogban (as Senatorial Collation/Returning Officer) deliberately wrote results that were different from what were announced and at variance with the documents submitted to him for Etim Ekpo and Oruk Anam local government areas.

During the trial, the INEC principal witnesses who served as returning officers/collation officers in the two contentious local government areas are both lecturers at the University of Uyo: Dr. John Udoidem, who is currently the Head of the Department of Banking and Finance, and Dr. Itemobong Ekaidem, a lecturer in the Department of Chemical Pathology. In his testimony, Udoidem said he was announcing the scores in the EC8C (1) form to Ogban in a loud voice, digit after digit in the presence of so many people, including agents of all parties. “In my Form – Exhibit 2, APC had a total vote of 10,534 while PDP had 25,123. The difference noted is that in Exhibit 3, the accused person recorded for APC – 15,534, an increase of 5,000. For PDP, the accused person recorded 20,123. The figure there was reduced by 5,000,” Udoidem said.

Although Ogban claimed to have recorded the figures he heard as against what was in the documents submitted to him, Justice Odokwo found his defence unbelievable: “…matching the figures of votes recorded by the APC in exhibit 2 which is 10,534 with the figure 15,534 as per exhibit 3, I will not require the aid of any magnifying glasses to see and come to the irresistible conclusion that the votes for APC was inflated with 5000 votes as against what was originally recorded in exhibit 2 by the Local Government Collation Officer, Dr. John Udoidem, the PW1.”

Another INEC witness, Ekaidem, had a similar problem with Ogban. What he called out as results for Etim Ekpo local government area were, ‘APC – 2,671, PDP – 6,603’ but the professor, who argued on the point that vowel/pronunciation could be misunderstood, recorded 5,671 for the APC and 3,306 for the PDP. “I read out the scores to the public and also to the Ikot Ekpene Senatorial Collation Officer (and) at the end of it, I submitted the copy I was reading to the accused person,” Ekaidem said while testifying against Ogban.

In his judgement, which has been affirmed by the appeal court, Justice Odokwo asked a pertinent question: “Can a reasonable man confronted with the kind of response given by the accused person that he did not compare the figures before filling exhibit 3 say the accused person as a professor acted diligently?” The judge answered his own question: “I would certainly not think so… this court cannot accept the evidence of the accused person as that of a credible witness given his position as a professor in the academic field.” And then this: “How can the accused be comfortable relying on what he heard rather than what is in a document, especially as it touches and concern figures?”

The subtext of the story is that Igini, as then REC in Akwa Ibom State, played a central role in eventually holding the erring INEC ad hoc staff accountable. However, even though he would have been the beneficiary had Ogban succeeded with his manipulation, Akpabio has consistently disowned the professor who pleaded for mercy when convicted in 2021. “This is an eye-opener for anyone who participated in local, state or national activities to do so with dexterity and not take anything for granted,” Ogban had told Justice Odokwo four years ago following his conviction. “I plead that you grant me 100 per cent mercy and allow me to go and continue with my responsibilities. If I lose my source of income, it means all the dependants I have mentioned will suffer, especially the condition of my aged mother.”

Meanwhile, it is true that Akpabio challenged the declaration of Ekpenyong as winner of the election, and a rerun was ordered in one local government by the Court of Appeal in Calabar. But let’s examine the facts. On that fateful election night on 24th February 2019, Ekpenyong was leading comfortably after results of nine local governments had been declared. The only outstanding result was from one local government: Essien Udim local government area where Akpabio hails from. When that result eventually arrived, Akpabio had 61,399 votes—enough to give him overall victory. That is ‘Rigging 101’ in the manual of how-to-game elections in Nigeria!

That night in Ikot Ekpene collation centre, it was the intervention of Igini that prevented what could have been a violent crisis. He ordered a suspension of the process and directed all the electoral officers to Uyo, the state capital. After cancelling results from several wards in Essien Udim local government that were considered not genuine, INEC called the election in favour of Ekpenyong. As returning officer for the senatorial district, it was Ogban who was saddled with the responsibility of announcing the result. But by then, the professor was already battling for his reputation over Etim Ekpo and Oruk Anam local governments results.

Akpabio, of course, mounted a fierce legal challenge against INEC, alleging manipulation of the results for which he accused Igini. He failed in his bid. Both the tribunal and appellate court upheld INEC’s claim that only 19,455 voters were accredited in Essien Udim local government. And with that, the 61,399 votes recorded in favour of Akpabio which the commission rejected were considered as lacking credibility. However, on grounds of non-compliance with the Electoral Act 2010 (as amended), Justice Tanko Husseini ordered a rerun in Akpabio’s local government of Essien Udim before a winner could be announced. When the rerun election eventually held in January 2020 and the final figures were tallied, Ekpenyong won with 134,717 votes to 83,820 votes by Akpabio.

Following the appeal court judgement in November 2019, INEC Public Affairs Officer in Akwa Ibom State, Don Etukudo, said the commission had been vindicated in its position that the Essien Udim election was characterised by “massive rigging and manipulations that culminated in the dubious award of 61,329 votes to Senator Akpabio alone in the LGA.”  Etukudo argued that what INEC thwarted was the plot to use a fraudulent result from one local government to neutralise results from nine other LGAs in the senatorial district. “Thugs had gone on the rampage in most parts of the LGA as soon as the polls were open,” Etokudo recounted. “They snatched and stuffed ballot boxes, foreclosed the use of Smart Card Readers, brutalised INEC ad hoc personnel and prevented voters from exercising their franchise.”

With the conviction of Professor Ogban, there are important lessons for all stakeholders in the electoral process. I have observed elections in numerous countries, including within the continent, and I never witness the kind of desperation I see in Nigeria where almost every actor is attempting to game the exercise. The challenge is now on how we can resolve a problem that is both systemic and pervasive. Why should our elections be conducted almost like war? Closure of borders, shutdown of businesses and offices, restrictions of movement, deployment of a disproportionate number of police and security personnel as well as military troops etc.

There are so many issues we need to deal with, including how long and difficult it is to prosecute electoral offenders. This case started six years ago and may still reach the Supreme Court. In the immediate, to restore integrity to the ballot box, we must ensure that there are consequences for bad behaviour. The watchword here is accountability. The moment electoral officers know that ‘lending a helping hand’ to politicians can land them in jail, they will think twice before getting involved in such malpractices.

Koyinsola @ 50

Ms Koyinsola Olukoya, a director with Kapital Communications, will be 50 on Saturday. Perhaps so that we would not eat Jollof rice, she decided to ‘Japa’ out of Abuja. Koyinsola has been the biggest supporter of my wife’s Not Forgotten Initiative (NFI) School which provides free education for more than a hundred underserved children in Abuja. She pays the tuition fees for the NFI extension students in secondary schools and also visits them. I wish ‘Momo Mayowa’ happy birthday, long life and good health.

As early as 5:00 am today, May 7, 2025, I found myself immersed in the online edition of the Lusaka Times, a Zambian newspaper I read frequently to broaden my understanding of African politics. Among the stories I stumbled upon was a thought-provoking piece titled “Staging Defections Is an Outdated Way of Doing Politics.”

The moment I read through the story, I was subconsciously drawn into a deep reflection on Nigeria’s political landscape. With a sigh, I whispered to myself: “What an irony!” Here I was, reading about a country where political defection, long a dominant feature in Nigeria’s political scene, is now regarded as outdated and archaic.

The story quoted Reagan Kashinga, the Socialist Party’s Copperbelt Provincial Vice Chairperson and spokesperson, who criticized Zambia’s ruling United Party for National Development (UPND) for orchestrating defections from opposition parties to create a façade of popularity. In his words, “Staging defections is an outdated way of doing politics.” That simple sentence hit me like a thunderbolt, considering how in Nigeria, defections are still seen as the lifeblood of political maneuvering.

 

Kashinga’s bold assertion is a sharp contrast to what we see in Nigeria, where defections are not only common but celebrated like national achievements. Each time a politician defects, especially to the ruling party, it is treated like a major news event, accompanied by colorful ceremonies, media fanfare, and carefully worded speeches filled with promises and sycophancy. The crowd is usually hired, the ‘defectors’ are recycled, and the promises made often fizzle out before the ink dries on the press release.

Unlike Zambia, where at least some voices still raise alarms about the moral and democratic implications of defections, Nigeria has become a haven for political carpet-crossing. There is hardly a political season in Nigeria without mass defections. A senator elected under Party A today will jump to Party B tomorrow if things don’t go his way, and then return to Party A the next week if offered the right incentives.

Let us not sugarcoat it: political defection in Nigeria is not a strategy for ideological realignment, it is a strategy for personal survival. It is not driven by conviction but by convenience. It has little or nothing to do with public interest, but everything to do with private gain.

 

The trend has become so pervasive that Nigerian voters barely bat an eyelid when a politician dumps one party for another. We have grown accustomed to seeing supposed “opposition leaders” sit comfortably at the table with ruling party chieftains after changing jerseys mid-match, so to speak. The defector often justifies the move by claiming they want to “join hands to develop the country” or “align with the vision of the President,” yet, development remains elusive, and the vision remains blurred.

Political defection in Nigeria is not just a trend; it has become a theater of absurdity. Consider the fact that in the run-up to every election cycle, there is a frenzy of defections, almost like a migration season in the animal kingdom. It is common to see political leaders switching allegiances without regard for the mandates given to them by their constituents. Nobody resigns to recontest under a new party. The seat, once won, is treated as personal property, regardless of the party platform on which it was secured.

Take the example of a former Speaker or Senate President switching parties on the eve of an election, dragging along dozens of lawmakers. These political gymnasts often go on to win re-election, not because the people support their antics, but because of the massive state resources deployed to buy votes and suppress opposition.

 

Ironically, these defections are not limited to the legislative class. Governors, former ministers, and even presidential aspirants routinely dump parties for the ruling coalition once they sense the tides are no longer in their favor. What should be condemned as betrayal of public trust is hailed as political “realignment.”

Back to Zambia, where Mr. Kashinga called the bluff of the ruling UPND’s staged defections, labelling them as archaic and deceitful. He challenged the government to instead address critical issues such as load shedding, cost of living, and economic reforms. His words were not only brave but insightful. He reminded the political elite that the only meaningful way to gain popularity is by performance, not propaganda.

Contrast this with Nigeria, where politicians still believe that defecting to the ruling party is the only way to retain relevance, avoid prosecution, or secure juicy appointments. Public service has become transactional. Politics has become a chessboard of selfish ambitions.

 

The Zambian political class may not be perfect, but if at least some of their voices are now calling out the futility of political defection as a popularity tool, then they are ahead of Nigeria in political maturity.

Let us face the truth: Nigerian voters are partly to blame for this menace. Our political culture still worships personalities over principles. We cheer politicians who defect to “our side,” forgetting that their loyalty lies not with the people, but with their pockets.

Until the average voter begins to ask tough questions, about ideology, performance, consistency, and commitment, we will continue to be victims of recycled leaders who lack vision and integrity.

 

We must begin to reject defectors unless they can convincingly demonstrate that their move is based on policy alignment rather than personal gain. We must demand laws that mandate elected officials to vacate their seats if they switch parties without clear justifications tied to public interest. The courts must stop enabling political prostitution under the guise of technicalities.

That a country like Zambia, a fellow African democracy, is boldly calling out defections as outdated should be a wake-up call to Nigeria. What we are celebrating here is being condemned elsewhere. What we see as strategy is seen as shame.

The time has come for us to ask ourselves: What exactly do we want from our politicians? Is it loyalty to party lines, or loyalty to the people? Is it jumping ship for survival, or standing firm for service?

 

As 2027 approaches, the Nigerian electorate must take notes from Zambia. It is time we stopped celebrating political defections and started demanding political direction. The real defection we need is a defection from backwardness, impunity, and mediocrity to responsibility, accountability, and progress.

What an irony indeed!

In a country where ethnic identity often becomes entangled in political manipulation, historical revisionism, and administrative convenience, very few voices rise with clarity, courage, and consistency. One of such rare voices is Barrister Gloria Adagbon, a lawyer, trained journalist, politician, and a relentless advocate for the Igbanke people. In a recent media parleys with this writer, that have reverberated across Edo State and beyond, she has firmly declared a truth that many have either attempted to distort or have been too afraid to voice: “Igbanke is Ika, not Benin.”

Her pronouncement is not a mere slogan; it is a declaration backed by history, culture, language, and lived experience. In fact, it is a call to reject forced identity, reclaim ancestral heritage, and reaffirm self-determination.

The Igbanke community, comprising six distinct settlements, sits in Edo State but culturally aligns with the Ika-speaking people of Delta State. For decades, this simple truth has been muddied by both political interests and historical misinterpretations. While some argue that proximity to the ancient Benin Kingdom justifies affiliation, others push back with cultural and linguistic evidence.

 

The confusion is not trivial. Identity shapes administrative inclusion, cultural recognition, and developmental attention. In the case of Igbanke, these issues are more than theoretical, they are the lived realities of marginalization, underdevelopment, and exclusion. It is in this context that Barrister Gloria Adagbon has emerged as a warrior of truth.

In her interview with this writer, Adagbon did not mince words: “Let me begin by stating clearly: “We are who we are!” Igbanke is Ika. Ethnic nationality should never be coerced or forcefully imposed.”

She made a striking comparison that cuts through the political noise: “Just because someone bears a Bini name does not mean they are Bini. By that logic, an American bearing an English name would be considered English, which we know is not true.”

 

Her argument dismantles the colonial mindset that equates nomenclature and geography with ethnicity. Names, she insists, do not define belonging; language, culture, and ancestry do.

She continues: “My surname may be Adagbon or even Omoruyi from my maternal side, but I do not understand a word of Bini. The language we grow up with, the one we speak from birth, is Ika. So tell me, how do you belong to a kingdom or community when you do not even understand the language?”

More than a cultural debate, the issue of Igbanke’s identity is deeply political. Gloria recounts a moment that captures the alienation: “I once visited a community in Orhionmwon, which is supposedly my local government area, and I could not understand the language spoken. I had to get someone to translate for me. I felt completely out of place.”

 

But the alienation is not just linguistic. It is administrative, developmental, and political. Despite having a significant population and cultural coherence, Igbanke remains without its own Local Government Area (LGA).

“It is a frustrating one,” she says. “Igbanke is made up of six communities, and by all standards… we are capable of having our own local government. Yet, every call for the creation of an Igbanke LGA has been ignored.”

She does not sugarcoat the facts: “Since Edo State was created, what has been done for the Igbanke community? Where is the impact on our development or welfare?”

 

One of the most powerful refrains from Adagbon’s interviews is her outright rejection of identity imposition: “Ethnic nationality is not something that should be imposed. It is insulting and frankly condescending for anyone to try and force their identity onto us.”

She places the Igbanke kingship within its rightful cultural context: “Our kings inherited their thrones from their forefathers. They are autonomous, sovereign, and not under any other kingdom.”

In the follow-up interview, she goes even further, drawing from Nigeria’s colonial history to explain how administrative convenience has long overridden indigenous reality:

 

“Before Flora Shaw even named Nigeria, the various peoples and communities were already here, living their lives with their own systems… The British didn’t create us; they merely grouped us together for their convenience.”

“Whatever administrative structures or influences the Benin Empire extended… do not and cannot redefine our ethnic identity.”

Adagbon’s insight is not born of sentiment; it is built on research, history, and a deep understanding of her people’s cultural heritage. She calmly challenges attempts to distort Igbanke’s history: “There are indeed different schools of thought about the origin of Igbanke… But when you critically examine these historical narratives, it becomes clear that our forebears were the indigenous settlers of our present land.”

 

She is aware of the imperial footprint that Benin left during its height, but she makes the crucial distinction: “Yes, the Benin Empire’s influence… touched many areas… But that was purely for governance, not a redefinition of who we are. Nigeria today is a nation, not an empire.”

Ultimately, her goal is not just to win an argument. It is to bring peace, clarity, and pride to the Igbanke people: “Our identity is settled and not up for negotiation.”

“My hope, my prayer, really, is that all of this recent attention will bring a permanent end to the debate.”

 

She speaks not only as a lawyer or politician but as a daughter of the soil, one whose lived experience embodies the story she defends.

In a nation where historical narratives are constantly revised to suit present political interests, the fight for identity becomes both revolutionary and redemptive. Barrister Gloria Adagbon’s voice rings out like a clarion call, not just for the Igbanke people, but for every community that has ever been told they are something they are not.

Her insistence that identity is not determined by power, but by heritage, language, and tradition is both timeless and timely. In an era of rising cultural erasure and administrative marginalization, voices like hers are desperately needed.

 

In many ways, Barrister Gloria Adagbon is not just fighting for Igbanke, she is fighting for the soul of ethnic integrity in Nigeria. She reminds us that the right to self-definition is sacred, that culture is not up for political auction, and that history must be told by those who lived it, not those who seek to rewrite it.

Barrister Gloria Adagbon is, without a doubt, an Amazon, a fearless defender of her people’s truth. She embodies the courage, intellect, and determination needed to challenge systemic misrepresentation. In reclaiming the Ika identity for Igbanke, she has reminded us all of a simple yet powerful truth:

“We are who we are. Igbanke is Ika. Full stop.” Her voice is more than advocacy, it is history refusing to be silenced.

It was Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka who sometime ago introduced  the sarcasm of “please quote me in my own words” into the public sphere. The irony should be obvious: how else could a man be quoted except in his own words?  Soyinka has employed  the phrase to respond to the  frequent attribution of false statements  to him by unscrupulous elements who attempt  to rig legitimacy into their views by giving those positions the Soyinka signature. Unforunately, the activities  of persons “quoting” Soyinka in their own  words have not abated in the permissive world of  social media. This trend  triggered the publication of the series entitled “Interventions,”  by which Soyinka now  responds to specific topics of public debate.

In fact, long before the advent of the social media, some eminent public figures were not content with speaking to reporters  when granting interviews. They would insist on writing their responses to the questions from media houses. 

Perhaps, former governor of Jigawa State and one-time foreign minister, Alhaji Sule Lamido, had in mind  this extreme distortion of history arising from the perversion in the social sphere when he embarked on writing his memoirs entitled “Being True to Myself.”

 By writing his own story, Lamido has offered history a self-definition of his political personality. This book will  remain clearly distinguishable from other versions of the Lamido story  which may be told by others. To that extent he has done a great justice to himself and posterity. In other words, Lamido may not need to plead henceforth  that “quote me in my own words.”

Not many Nigerian politicians can lay claim to political traditions. Yet there are identifiable political traditions of different origins  in the history of  Nigerian politics. Lamido is indisputably among the view   politicians that could be traced to a political tradition that is undeniably progressive. And he is very proud of this background. A man of organisation, Lamido is also among the vanishing breed of politicians who take the  fidelity to political parties seriously. To be sure, if there is one politician who would not defect from the People’s Democratic Party (PDP), that politician is certainly Sule Lamido, the prince from Bamaina in Jigawa state!  As one of the founders of the PDP, Lamido has remained committed to the party through thick and thin of the stormy waters of Nigerian politics. The progressive streak  has been discernible in Lamido’s politics all through his career. In the Second Republic he was elected to the House of Representatives on the platform of the People’s Redemption Party (PRP), a party that had the heritage of the Northern Elements Progressive Union (NEPU) whose leader was the legendary populist, Mallam Aminu Kano. To the people, NEPU was simply the party of the “talakawa,” the poor. During the transition programme of President Ibrahim Babangida, Lamido was elected the national secretary of the “little to the left” Social Democratic Party (SDP). In this dispensation the PDP cannot, of course,  be accused of being a party of the Left. Yet Lamido, as a PDP governor in Jigawa did something that was reminiscent of his NEPU political ancestry. Long before the idea of cash transfer as a social protection instrument was embraced by the  federal government, Lamido’s administration in Jigawa had a programme of giving stipend to the most vulnerable in the state based an authentic social register. The programme expectedly generated an avalanche of criticisms from the right-wing  elite who argued that the money given to the poor could be better invested in cottage industries and other economic alternatives. Lamido countered the technicist arguments on a philosophical basis. He explained that the organising principle underlying the programme was the respect for the dignity of human person and not economic calculus. In any case, the beneficiaries were living on begging; some of them without limbs were carried in wheelbarrows  to line the streets. Such persons were not in the position to engage in productive activities even if the jobs were available. The idea of the cash transfer was to keep the beggars off the streets while the stipend is taken to the poor  in a dignified manner.  Here we are talking of the  poorest of the poor. Anyone who was  already a dependant on another person, who earning income, was disqualified from receiving the stipend because of  limited resources.

Such is the nature of the politics of Lamido whose  autobiography will be launched in Abuja next Tuesday.

The composition of the committee organising the book launch says something about the breadth of  Lamido’s politics.

The committee chaired  by Senator Mustapha Khabeeb has Dr. Aminu Abdullahi Taura as secretary. Other distinguished members of the organising committee are Senator Ibrahim Musa Kazaure, Ambassador Joe Keshi, Ambassador John Shankaiye, Hon. Musa Elayo,  Iyom Josephine Anenih, Hajiya Inna Ciroma, Hajiya Zainab Maina, Professor Tijjani Naniya, Dr. Max Ndugi Abe, Dr. Auwalu Anwar, Dr. Akilu Sani Indabawa, Alhaji Mustapha Sule Lamido, Dr. Babandi Ibrahim, Prof. Nu’uman, Alhaji Ahmed Amin, Alhaji Ismaila Omipidan, Umar Kyari Jitau and Umar Danjani.

Below is a  foretaste of the book launch  given yesterday at a press conference  by Senator  Khabeeb:

“Sule Lamido’s autobiography, for which he gives the intriguing title BEING TRUE TO MYSELF, takes the reader through a  revealing story on the making of what he has become today – a versatile, au courant, urbane, cosmopolitan, knowledgeable, dynamic, highly principled and dedicated leader and public servant who has given his all towards the making of modern-day Nigeria. As an elder statesman now, Sule Lamido has done well to document this revealing and remarkable experience, which has taken him to the nooks and corners of our country and beyond. He revealed how this has enabled him to build an enormous clientele of friendship and association with people from all parts of the country and internationally. His calling initially in the private sector before joining the political fray revealed itself in his rich pattern of relationships.

“It is worthwhile for everyone to recognize that Sule Lamido’s character and disposition took root from his typically innocent Fulani nature of truthfulness, of seeing life with pure simplicity devoid of flamboyance or pretence. But, it is also a disposition of not being given to condescending or patronising attitude from anyone – no matter their social standing. His is a character that has also been moulded and imbued with a sense of honour, sincerity and honesty, typical of a blue blood pedigree.

“Viewed from this antecedent, Sule can easily be excused for his bold, blunt truthfulness when it comes to speaking his mind on any given issue, to anybody, no matter how highly placed.

“President Olusegun Obasanjo discovered these attributes early in Sule and probably was one reason for the enormous confidence he had in him to make Sule Nigeria’s Foreign Affairs Minister.

“Besides writing a foreword to BEING TRUE TO MYSELF, the former President is also the Special Guest of Honour at next Tuesday’s occasion.

“So, did the author of BEING TRUE TO MYSELF have a central role and say in all other political arrangements that culminated in the formation of the Peoples Democratic Party? Indeed, Sule was a founding member who has tenaciously stuck with the party to this day.

“Many other colleagues of his have since switched camps, some several times. Sule Lamido, Muhammadu Abubakar Rimi, Dr Iyorchia Ayu , the book reviewer next Tuesday, all played key roles at the Jos Convention which produced Obasanjo as the presidential candidate and later as President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria in 1999.

“BEING TRUE TO MYSELF will surely resonate not only with students of history and politics,  but with every Nigerian who still believes in the politics of principles and the promise of a better Nigeria.”

Doubtless, Lamido’s autobiograpghy is a welcome addition to the corpus of memoirs of those individuals who have played significant roles in the  making (and unmaking?) of Nigeria. This is more so given the shallowness often displayed in the public shere about even the recent history of the nation. There are indeed untold stories of Nigeria. How enriching would it have been to history if General Yakubu Gowon and Dim Emeka Odumegwu-Ojukwu  could write their respective memoirs  on the civil war. Those who have stories to tell should write from their various perspectives. President Muhammadu Buhari, who was in charge of the Nigerian state cumulatively for nine years and  eight months, said he would not write his memoirs because doing so would make  some people unhappy. On the contrary, from whatever prism through which Babangida’s memoirs, “A Journey in Service: An Autobiography,”  is read, the point is  that the former president has told his own story. And he is very lucky to do so. 

This reporter, as a  member of  a three-man  team which interviewed Babangida 27 years ago in Minna, posed the question of what the general thought  the verdict of history would be on him in the light of the criticisms from various quarters. Babangida’s response was that there would be many versions of the history. Now, it is difficult to fault that assertion, which is far from being cryptic as the former president is often described.

Some philosophers of history object to Thomas Carlyle’s argument that  the “history of the world is the biograpghy of great men.”   Yet, it is indubitable that the insights and arguments  from the  various biographies of individuals who have played important  roles in history  would constitute some of the  veritable materials to be used by professional historians for the  construction of a grand history of Nigeria.

Here lies the significance of Lamido’s memoirs.

So, saying congratulations to Alhaji Sule Lamido will be in order.