The Pacesetter Frontier Magazine

Category: Opinion

  • General Rabe Abubakar: Many Questions, Few Answers

    General Rabe Abubakar: Many Questions, Few Answers

    Late Major General Rabe Abubakar

    By Ikechukwu Amaechi

    When Major General Rabe Abubakar (retd), former army spokesman, died in captivity on Saturday, June 13, all hell broke loose. Understandably! He was not an ordinary citizen. But knowing Nigerians well, all it takes to forget him is another high-profile abduction.

    And that nearly happened on Monday night when terrorists attacked the National Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies, Kuru, near Jos, killing two soldiers and a policeman. NIPSS is Nigeria’s foremost policy think-tank and executive leadership training institution where some of the country’s most consummate public servants, senior military commanders, police and intelligence chiefs, diplomats, and private sector leading lights gather annually to reflect on the future of the country.

    For now, nobody knows the motive but had the gunmen succeeded in their evil enterprise of killing and maiming or abduction of any of the high profile participants, the impact would have been consequential.

    Already, some say the attack is unprecedented in its brazenness considering that the Institute is a high-security zone. But such people forget that on August 24, 2021, terrorists attacked the permanent site of the Nigerian Defence Academy (NDA) in Afaka, Kaduna State, infiltrated the officers’ quarters, killed two military officers – a Major and a Squadron Leader – and abducted Major Christopher Datong. He was only rescued by security forces 24 days later.

    Nobody, it seems, remembers that dastardly act again, which explains why the security breach at NIPSS is being portrayed as the first of its kind in Nigeria. It is not. The problem is our collective amnesia.

    That is why it is necessary to interrogate the circumstances surrounding General Abubakar’s death before it becomes another distant tale. The Katsina State Government attributed his death in captivity to complications arising from diabetes and hypertension. “The deceased retired General died a natural death from complications of diabetes and hypertension,” the Commissioner for Internal Security and Home Affairs, Nasiru Mu’azu, said in a statement.

    Death is usually considered natural by medical experts if it wasn’t caused by an external factor. In answering the question, “What does it mean to die of natural causes?” Dr. Alexander Fitzthum, a pathologist and assistant professor at the Ohio State Wexner Medical Center, U.S., said: “A natural death is one that occurs due to an internal factor that causes the body to shut down, such as cancer, heart disease or diabetes.”

    So, General Rabe Abubakar may well have died a natural death if it is true that he died as a result of alleged complications from pre-existing medical condition. But did he? Assuming without conceding that he was, indeed, diabetic and hypertensive, could he have died if he had access to his drugs? To what extent can the death of a 61-year-old man even with pre-existing medical condition in the hands of terrorists who denied him access to life-sustaining drugs be deemed natural?

    The retired major general and former director of defence information was abducted alongside his wife, Amina, and driver when armed men attacked his vehicle on May 30 while travelling along the Marabar Musawa–Kafinsoli Road in Katsina State. He was going for a wedding and definitely didn’t have his drugs assuming the tale bandied by the government is true.

    But the more important questions are: Why was that piece of information so important to the government? Why did they deem it necessary that the public must know he died of natural causes? Whose agenda was that? Besides, how did they know the cause of death even without an autopsy?

    These questions are germane given that General Abubakar’s family has dismissed the state government’s claim. Speaking during an interview with the Deutsche Welle (DW), a German multilingual news network, one of his sons, Isyaka Abubakar, said reports attributing his father’s death to diabetes and hypertension were inaccurate. He was emphatic that his father had no history of either illness.

    Instead, he said based on the last video released by the kidnappers, some people believed the late general died from a snake bite, a claim reechoed by his sister, Adda Abubakar.

    But this is a riddle that would have been easily solved through an autopsy. Granted, in Islam, autopsies are generally considered a violation of the sacredness and dignity of the human body, but even at that, they are permitted in cases of necessity when there are overriding societal benefits or legal requirements, which fall under the Islamic principle of maslaha (public interest).

    That is why recognised Islamic scholars and legal bodies such as the International Islamic Fiqh Academy (IIFA), a universal scholarly organisation and a subsidiary organ of the Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC), with eminent Muslim jurists, scholars, and intellectuals – specialists in jurisprudential, cultural, scientific and economic fields of knowledge – allow post-mortem examinations under specific conditions, including legal and criminal investigations, homicides, unexplained sudden deaths, or foul play. This is intended to serve the cause of justice.

    The circumstances surrounding General Abubakar’s death and the need for an autopsy tick all these boxes. If an autopsy had been carried out, the cause of death would have been factually established and not left to conjecture.

    The Katsina State Government should have done that and it would still have met the requisite conditions prescribed by Islam. And if the autopsy had been carried out, the burial would still have been done within the ideal 24-hour period. So, why was he hurriedly buried?

    The third controversy has do with how his body was recovered. While one account claims, as reported by Premium Times, an online newspaper, that the terrorists directed state government officials to a location near the Karaduwa community, where they handed over the body before it was conveyed to Katsina under military escort, former Kogi West senator Dino Melaye, in a post on X on Sunday, claimed that “heavily armed bandits” handed over the late general’s body in Katsina before returning to a nearby forest in Matazu. He did not disclose the source of his information.

    Yet, another version of the same story claimed that the terrorists dumped the body near a sawmill in Karaduwa community, and some locals who found it notified security personnel, who came, identified the remains, and picked them up in an ambulance escorted by the army to Katsina.

    However, it is instructive that General Abubakar’s family claims ignorance of how his body was found. “When I announced the time for my father’s funeral prayer, many people began asking how the body was recovered. I told them I did not know and that they should direct such questions to the government,” Ishaka said in the Deutsche Welle interview. “I myself want to know how the body was recovered without rescuing her.”

    Of course, he was referring to his mother who was abducted alongside her husband. When the story of the death broke, the initial report was that the terrorists handed not only the General’s body but also the wife to government officials.

    But that story also turned out to be false. Then, two days after the death and burial of her husband, troops of the Nigerian Army, supported by the Nigerian Air Force, rescued Mrs. Amina Abubakar.

    Announcing the rescue on Monday, the Defence Headquarters said the operation followed intensified search-and-rescue efforts by troops of Operation Fansan Yamma. A statement signed by the Director of Defence Information, Major General Samaila Uba, said troops made contact with the kidnappers at Tunga Village during sustained offensive operations against criminal elements in the area.

    “In the course of the encounter, the bandits shot Mrs. Abubakar before abandoning her and fleeing due to the overwhelming pressure from advancing troops,” the statement said. Not surprisingly, there was no word on the fate of the driver. Is he alive or dead? Isn’t his life also important? And there is no indication that any of the terrorists was arrested or neutralized in the course of rescuing Mrs. Amina.

    They simply shot her on the leg and disappeared into thin air. If they wanted, they would have wasted her as they did the husband. So, why didn’t they travel that route this time? An act of benevolence from contrite minds or what?

    The death and hasty burial of Major General Rabe Abubakar and the “rescue” of his wife, Amina, raise so many questions. Sadly, only few answers have been provided. Why was the family blindsided in this harrowing saga? The way the Katsina State Government handled the matter leaves much to be desired. There seems to be more to it than meets the eye. Hopefully, one day a fully recovered Mrs. Amina will fill in the yawning gaps.

  • NOVELLA: The Waters Will Take Us Back

    NOVELLA: The Waters Will Take Us Back

    By C.V.C Ozoaniamalu

    I did not feel anger when the white girl at the Adidas shop on Admiralty Way, Lekki Phase 1, had called me “Wonder Woman.” She had said it with that thin smile people wear when they want their cruelty to pass as humour, her eyes lingering too long on my arms, on the muscles that sat heavily beneath my dark skin. I remember only shrugging, almost amused. Looking at myself now, at the grand age of almost thirty-two, standing before the mirror in my apartment while evening gathered itself outside the windows, I think I, too, would call this woman in front of the mirror a Wonder Woman.

    Perhaps I am.

    My brothers were made differently from me, as though the universe had been careful with them and careless with me.

    Ozonna, my immediate younger brother, looked like my mother’s people: light-skinned, slender, with the sort of smile that entered a room before he did. Women loved him immediately. Even as a child, he carried beauty carelessly, as though unaware of its power. My mother called him “Ozonna, the Magnificent,” and on days when joy softened her voice into song, she called him “His Mother’s Father.” I never saw the resemblance between him and Papa Nnukwu, but I understood that naming in our family was often less about truth than possession. By naming him after her people, she claimed him more fully.

    Nze, my elder brother, belonged entirely to my father. Dark-skinned. Broad-shouldered. Quiet in the deliberate way handsome men often are, because they know silence can also command attention. He spoke only when necessary and carried himself with the confidence of somebody whose body had always been rewarded. My father called him “Dike” whenever he lifted something heavy or fixed what none of us could fix. On ordinary evenings, he became “Ifemelumma,” said with warmth over dinner while my father recounted his achievements as though they were family scripture, in the same way my mother too often showed off Ozonna to the other Catholic women, after the ten o’clock Mass at the Church of Assumption, Falomo, while I hurried behind them in uncomfortable shoes, sweating beneath lace dresses I hated. Nobody spoke of me with pride.

    My father called me “Onyeka Onwenu” or the names of other popular Igbo celebrities that I shared the same name with, and those sounded less like affection and more like instruction, as though he were reminding me of the kind of woman I ought to become.

    My mother’s compliments were cautious things. “You do not look bad at all,” she would say whenever I slipped into her room, waiting, almost holding my breath, for her approval of what I was about to wear. Sometimes, instead of answering me directly, she would drift into a story, one she seemed to carry with quiet reverence from my paternal grandmother: the story of her husband’s uncle, Udenze.

    He was my paternal grand-uncle, she would say, sold at Arochukwu by my great-grandfather during the slave trade in Abatete, the town that still calls itself ours. She told the story so often that it began to settle into me, to take the shape of memory rather than inheritance. In my mind, I began to build him, piece by piece, from her retellings. I imagined his face before I ever saw my own reflected in his.

    He was fierce, I decided. He was not tall. His hair was full and close-cropped, stubborn in the way it grew. And his arms, she always lingered on his arms, were strong, dense with muscle, the kind that spoke of work and will. In this imagined man, I began to recognize something unsettlingly familiar. I saw his arms in mine.

    At eighteen, during one of our silent drives home from Mass through the stillness of Ikoyi on a Sunday afternoon, I remember wondering why a man like Udenze had chosen to return as a woman. Worse still, why he had chosen me without permission.

    It was not until my first year at Enugu State University that I began to understand him. I found a book in the library about Igbo Landing. I remember sitting there for hours beneath the stale smell of old paper, reading about the enslaved Igbo people who chose drowning over bondage. There was a line from a song they sang before entering the water:

    “The waters brought us here, and the waters will take us back.”

    And suddenly Udenze made sense to me.

    Perhaps he had been among those men. Perhaps he had walked into the water carrying faith in reincarnation like a lantern inside his chest. Perhaps he had returned through me because unfinished lives are stubborn things.

    After that, I began asking my grandmother endless questions about him. What foods did he like? Did he laugh loudly? Did he fight often? What would he have become if he had lived?

    She grew tired of me eventually.

    But I did not grow tired of trying to know Udenze.

    So, my grandmother was not surprised when my parents announced that I had led a student protest at Babcock against the corrupt union government and earned myself a two-year suspension before my enrollment at a State University in Enugu as punishment. She merely sighed, shook her head slowly, and said, “Udenze has come again.”

    Now, standing before this mirror years later, preparing to meet Ofiafuluagu, I find myself wondering whether love is ever entirely innocent.

    I met him at the theatre. He had come with his younger sister for auditions for The Nights of Glory, a stage production one of my mother’s colleagues insisted I would suit. I had not wanted to go. Acting seemed frivolous to me then. But my mother persuaded me gently, saying perhaps performance could become another form of protest. “You are always fighting,” she said. “At least let them clap for this one.”

    Ofiafuluagu — Fulu-Agu, as I later began calling him, was a doctor at Mea Mater Hospital on Banana Island. He had a rounded face, soft but careful eyes, and the measured movements of a man who trusted discipline. During rehearsals, he spoke little, but when he did, people listened.

    At SkyBar on Victoria Island weeks later, with the lagoon shimmering below us like dark silk, I watched him speak about the future using “we” before I had fully allowed myself to imagine one with him.

    “We should travel there someday.”

    “We could build something together.”

    The word wrapped itself around me slowly. We.

    I fell in love not dramatically, but gently, like cloth lowered into water.

    Two years later, I was wheeled into a hospital theatre in Connecticut with Fulu-Agu gripping my hand so tightly it almost hurt. Labour lasted for hours. Jideobi arrived first, at 11:40 in the morning on February 13. Akuabata followed thirty minutes later, entering the world just after midnight on Valentine’s Day.

    When they placed Jideobi in my arms, I laughed with relief because he looked entirely like his father.

    And then came Akuabata.

    I had feared she would inherit my face, my heavy arms, my Udenze-ness. But she was beautiful in the easy way my mother had been beautiful in old photographs. Delicate nose. Bright eyes. Softness.

    The universe, for once, had been merciful.

    Then came the third child. Nwando.

    He looked like me. Not exactly, but enough to make my chest tighten the first time I held him. He had my stubborn eyes, my thick limbs, my fierceness sitting quietly beneath the skin. Even as a baby, he clutched things tightly, as though unwilling to lose the world once it entered his hands.

    He cried a little. Observed much.

    And unlike me, he was born into a world that would reward his fierceness simply because it lived inside a boy’s body.

    I loved him for that.

  • June 12 Honours List and the Missing Names

    June 12 Honours List and the Missing Names

    By Abdul Mahmud

    Governments often lionise those they choose, but history reserves its own place for those it recognises as true heroes. For anyone who followed the social and political movements of the 1980s and 1990s, and the long struggle for the revalidation of June 12, two names remain impossible to ignore: Glory Kilanko and Chom Bagu, who earned the epithet General during the halcyon years of the June 12 struggles. There are names that enter public records through appointments, titles, and ceremonial recognition. There are others that survive because they were written into difficult moments when fear carried official authority and resistance carried consequences. June 12 belongs to the latter category.

    Each year, as speeches are delivered and honours lists are announced, the country performs remembrance in a language that increasingly favours visibility over sacrifice. Public memory becomes selective, and selective memory eventually transforms political history into a comfortable narrative in which victory appears detached from struggle.

    That distortion deserves correction.

    The annulment of the June 12, 1993 presidential election was not merely a constitutional rupture. It was experienced as a direct assault on democratic possibility by a generation that had spent years confronting military rule through student organising, labour mobilisation, and civic agitation. What followed was neither spontaneous outrage nor abstract idealism. Resistance had to be organised, coordinated, and sustained.

    One of the decisive moments came in mid-July of that year at the residence of Dr. Beko Ransome-Kuti at 8, Imaria Street, Anthony Village, Lagos, where activists gathered to determine the course of organised resistance. Out of that meeting emerged the Campaign for Democracy as the principal vehicle through which opposition to annulment acquired structure, direction, and public expression. Instructions were clear. Resistance cells were to hold Lagos. Every axis had its assignment.

    As activists prepared to leave, Beko turned his attention to the Lagos Island group and gave a specific directive. The embassies had to feel the reality of public anger and understand that the annulment had consequences beyond government communiqués and diplomatic briefings.

    Indeed, there was work to do.

    Fabian Okoye, Odion Akhaine, Omano Edigheji, Uche Onyeagocha and yours sincerely moved into action. I reached out to an old comrade from the University of Jos, Yakub Aromashodun, a son of Lagos Island, whose knowledge of the terrain became invaluable in navigating its streets, passages and strategic points. What followed remains among the defining memories of that period.

    At Apongbon, activists confronted combined police and military resistance in one of the fiercest engagements of the June 12 struggle. The objective was political and geographical at once. Carter Bridge had to be held down. Victoria Island had to be separated from the rest of the city through strategic occupation of access routes. The bridge approaching Bonny Camp, home to one of the country’s most famous military barracks, became contested ground. The overhead bridge before the Nigerian Law School formed part of that theatre of resistance.

    Those encounters were not symbolic exercises.

    People faced batons, arrests, bullets, detention, death, and uncertainty with no assurance that history would remember their names.

    Across Lagos, others opened different fronts of resistance. Activists such as Baba Aye, Wale Adeoye, John Odah, Uzo Nwaogbe, Ogaga Ifowodo, Lanre Ehonwa, the late Olaitan Oyerinde, the late Biodun Ogunade, Omoyele Sowore and Segun Mayegun occupied their own spaces within that movement and contributed to sustaining pressure at a time when silence offered greater personal comfort. Beyond Lagos, the struggle acquired national expression through figures, including Nasiru Kura, Lukman Salihu, Kingsley Chinda, Teejay Yusuf, Chijioke Uwasomba, HRM Chris Akani, Yomi Gidado, Jiti Ogunye, Ola Doifie, Edward Daudu, Louis Alozie SAN, the late Wisdom Durueke, and the late Chris Abashi among many others whose contributions deserve careful historical recovery. Many of these individuals emerged from the culture of struggle cultivated within the National Association of Nigerian Students, an organisation that, during those years, served as one of the principal organisations of democratic engagement and political courage.

    Their stories remain largely absent from official recognition.

    This omission matters because honours are never merely decorative. They are statements about what a nation values and whom it chooses to remember. They influence public understanding of how democratic gains were secured and whose labour made present freedoms possible. A country that commemorates June 12 while overlooking many of those who carried resistance into the streets risks reducing history into ceremony. Recognition cannot restore youth spent in struggle. It cannot return years consumed by detention, exile, or interrupted ambitions. However, it can restore honesty to national memory.

    The names that appear on honours lists deserve scrutiny, not from resentment but from the belief that commemoration ought to meet the standards of historical seriousness. Numerous figures who stood at the barricades remain alive, while others who bore the weight of resistance continue to exist beyond official remembrance. Some whose sacrifices helped widen democratic space now watch later beneficiaries of that freedom occupy the centre of public recognition. History has a way of correcting omissions, though often more slowly than justice permits. June 12 was built through human courage and struggle. Those who shaped it should not be reduced to footnotes, nor should their place in national memory depend on political convenience.

    Nigeria owes them remembrance.

  • The Old Man Wept – By Abdul Mahmud

    The Old Man Wept – By Abdul Mahmud

    A viral video can sometimes reveal what a thousand official statements cannot. A few days ago, the Governor of Oyo State, Seyi Makinde, visited Oriire in Oyo State to sympathise with families whose children remain in captivity after the abduction of pupils and staff of three schools in the community. The video that emerged from the visit which has refused to leave the mind showed an elderly man, standing among others, his face contorted by grief, weeping profusely, and with tears flowing freely. The man was Pa. Alamu, husband of Mrs. Rachael Alamu, the vice principal of Esiele Community Grammar School, whose desperate voice had reached our country through a video recorded in captivity. In that video, Mrs. Alamu pleaded for her life and the lives of the children snatched from Baptist Nursery and Primary School and the Local Authority Primary, Ahoro-Esinele. Her pleas were stripped bare of rhetorical pretence. She spoke as a mother trapped in the forest with frightened children, exposed to the elements and uncertain of what the next hour might bring.

    Her husband watched from home. He could not protect her. He could not rescue the children. He could only wait, like many Nigerians who have since taken to the streets to demand that this government does something drastic and urgent. The video captured what waiting does to the human spirit. Of course, there are also many who have become accustomed to reading reports of kidnappings, and who scan headlines, exchange a few messages and move on without expressing outrage.

    Tears resist such I-Don’t-Care attitude.

    The tears of Pa. Alamu brought the tragedy into sharp focus. They reminded us that every kidnapping creates circles of suffering extending far beyond those held captive. Behind every victim is a family caught between hope and despair. There are husbands who stare endlessly at telephones, praying for news. There are wives who struggle to answer questions from her children. There are parents and grandparents who sit silently through the night, fearing the arrival of devastating information. For eighteen days, the families of these schoolchildren have lived in that state of torment.

    Eighteen days of torment.

    For a child, two weeks in captivity can feel like an eternity. A child does not measure time as adults do. Each day carries its own fears, discomforts, and uncertainties. The forest offers no classroom, no playground, and no familiar embrace. It offers only fear. One can only imagine what these children have witnessed and endured. Our country reveals much about itself through the value it places on the safety of its children. When schoolchildren are taken from their schools and transported into captivity, the injury extends beyond the immediate victims. It strikes at the confidence of every parent who sends a child to school, weakens faith in public authority, and creates anxiety in communities far removed from the scene of the crime. Education and learning cannot flourish where fear becomes a constant companion.

    Across many parts of our country, parents increasingly calculate risks that previous generations never contemplated. They ask whether the roads to schools are safe. They wonder whether boarding facilities can be protected. They question whether governments at all levels possess the capacity to respond effectively when danger arrives. These are painful questions because education has long been presented as the pathway to opportunity. Families make enormous sacrifices to educate their children. Many deny themselves basic comforts to pay school fees. They do so because they believe the classroom offers a better future. When children are abducted from that space, the social contract suffers a profound rupture.

    The anguish visible on Pa. Alamu’s face should also provoke reflection about the emotional cost of insecurity. Public discussions often focus on operational responses, security deployment and tactical considerations. Those matters are important. Human suffering deserves equal attention. What support exists for families navigating such trauma? How do elderly parents cope with prolonged uncertainty? What assistance is available to children who eventually return from captivity, carrying sad memories that may remain with them for years?

    These questions deserve serious engagement.

    Our country has spent years confronting kidnapping in its various forms. Villages have virtually been emptied out. Farmers have abandoned farm lands. A generation is growing up in an environment where stories of abduction have become distressingly familiar. But familiarity should never breed acceptance. Every prolonged captivity carries consequences that may not immediately appear in official reports. Trust erodes. Anxiety deepens. The country retreats into fear. Citizens begin to organise their lives around fear. That is a heavy burden for any country to carry.

    The video from Oriire, viewed as more than a moment of personal grief, reflects a collective failure that demands urgent attention. The tears of Pa. Alamu symbolise the fears of countless families scattered across our country. His sorrow not only speaks to parents who lie awake waiting for children travelling on dangerous roads, it also speaks to families whose loved ones remain missing and to communities that feel exposed and forgotten.

    Pa. Alamu did not need to deliver a speech. His tears conveyed enough. They told the story of a husband separated from his wife. They told the story of children who should be at home with their families. They told the story of a country struggling to guarantee one of the most basic responsibilities of governance: the protection of life. Governor Makinde’s visit offered comfort and solidarity to grieving families. Such gestures matter. Human beings need reassurance that they have not been abandoned. Compassion from public officials carries value during moments of crisis. Families, however, need more than sympathy. They need results. They need to see their loved ones returned safely. They need confidence that future tragedies can be prevented. They need evidence that the security of schoolchildren remains an overriding national priority.

    Our country should never become comfortable with scenes of children and their teachers disappearing into the dark of the forest. An elderly man should not have to weep publicly while his wife and schoolchildren remain captive. A teacher should not be forced to plead for the lives of children through videos recorded under duress. Childhood should not be interrupted by terror. As the days pass, the image from Oriire remains. It endures because it strips away political arguments and exposes the simple truth: an old man wept. He wept for his wife. He wept for the children. He wept for a country that constantly sleepwalks into tragedies of unimaginable proportions.

     

     

  • Eight pastors remanded over fake miracles in Anambra

    Eight pastors remanded over fake miracles in Anambra

    A High Court sitting in Awka, Anambra State, on Friday remanded eight pastors in a correctional centre after they were arraigned over alleged violations of the state’s Homeland Security Law, 2025, including hiring paid actors to stage “fake” miracles.

    The defendants are Pastors Ndubisi Nnachukwu of Omega Dominion Ministry; Ekeleme Ugochukwu of Cloud of Glory Prophetic Ministry; Bishop Emeka Nwamkpa of Chapel of Faith Ministry; Peter Chukwu of Messiah Adoration Ministry; Chinedu Egwuonwu of Citadel of Grace Ministry.

    Others are Ebele Nnachukwu of Jehovah the Mighty Than All Ministry; Miracle Iruoma of City of Power Ministry; and Chukwukadibia Ogwuama of Land of Testimony Adoration Ministry.

    The pastors were brought before the court by operatives of the state security outfit, Agunechemba, led by the Special Adviser to the Governor on Security, Ken Emeakayi.

    In charge sheet numbers A/65C/26, A/55C/26, A/63C/26, A/64C/26, A/57C/26, A/60C/26, A/58C/26 and A/61C/26, the defendants were accused of wielding fake supernatural powers, using a religious place of worship for the commission of a crime contrary to Sections 18(3) and 19(1) of the Anambra State Homeland Security Law, 2025, and obtaining by false pretence contrary to Section 3(1) of the Advance Fee Fraud and Other Fraud-Related Offences Act, LFN 2006.

    Some of the pastors, who pleaded not guilty, were arraigned before Justice Jude Obiorah alongside “agents” they allegedly used to procure persons who were paid to pretend they had been healed or delivered.

    According to the charges, the pastors obtained rewards from members of the public through the fake miracles they allegedly performed.

    The proof of evidence filed alongside the charges listed video-recorded confessions of the pastors as part of the evidence, with a flash drive attached, indicating that they confessed to the offences.

    After listening to all parties, Justice Obiorah ordered that the defendants be remanded in a correctional centre and adjourned the matter until June 15, 2026, for further hearing and motion for bail.

    Speaking with journalists shortly after the proceedings, the state Attorney General and Commissioner for Justice, Tobechukwu Nweke, SAN, who led the prosecution, said the confessional statements of the pastors formed part of the evidence frontloaded by the state.

    “The state intends to rely on these evidences. The charges are part of the efforts of the administration of the state governor, Prof. Chukwuma Soludo, to nip in the bud, the practice of exploiting vulnerable members of the public through deception of staged miracles, just as the state is doing in its crackdown on fraudulent native doctors,” Nweke said.

    The arraignment comes amid the state government’s ongoing crackdown on individuals it describes as fake pastors, native doctors and spiritualists allegedly involved in activities that promote criminality. Punch

  • Ogbuekwe: A Leader Defined by Vision, Results, and Service [VIEWPOINT]

    Ogbuekwe: A Leader Defined by Vision, Results, and Service [VIEWPOINT]

    Exceptional leaders are not measured by the positions they occupy but by the impact they create, the institutions they strengthen, and the people they inspire. Engr. Mike Ogbuekwe embodies these qualities through a distinguished career spanning public service, policy development, project management, economic transformation, and organizational leadership.

    His leadership style is rooted in strategic thinking, innovation, accountability, and a deep commitment to public value. Throughout his career, he has consistently demonstrated the ability to transform ideas into practical solutions, lead multidisciplinary teams, and deliver measurable results across government and private sector institutions.

    As a public sector leader, he has played pivotal roles in driving governance reforms, project monitoring, economic development, agricultural transformation, and public sector modernization. His contributions to digitizing government processes, improving project oversight, reducing costs, and enhancing operational efficiency reflect a leader who understands that sustainable development requires both vision and execution.

    One of his defining strengths is his ability to build systems rather than merely manage activities. Whether leading large project teams, coordinating economic development initiatives, or overseeing strategic government programs, he has consistently championed transparency, innovation, and performance-driven governance.

    Engr. Ogbuekwe is also recognized for his collaborative leadership approach. He brings together stakeholders, builds consensus, mentors teams, and creates an environment where people can perform at their highest potential. His dedication to capacity building and youth empowerment demonstrates a leadership philosophy centered on creating opportunities and developing future leaders.

    His experience across engineering, business, public administration, and economic development provides him with a rare ability to connect technical expertise with strategic policy decisions. This unique blend of competence enables him to navigate complex challenges, identify opportunities for growth, and implement solutions that generate lasting impact.

    Above all, Engr. Mike Ogbuekwe is a results-oriented leader whose career reflects integrity, innovation, excellence, and an unwavering commitment to service. His leadership journey stands as a testament to the power of vision, discipline, and purposeful action in transforming institutions and improving lives.

  • Tomorrow Is Here: The Story of How Enugu Learned to Believe Again

    Tomorrow Is Here: The Story of How Enugu Learned to Believe Again

    By Dr. Collins Ogbu

    On a quiet morning inside the Government House Chapel in Enugu, Governor Peter Ndubuisi Mbah sat among worshippers, reflecting on a journey that had reached its third year. There were no grand festivities, no elaborate ceremonies, and no triumphant declarations. Instead, there was reflection; a moment to measure promises against reality.

    Three years earlier, on May 29, 2023, at the historic Okpara Square, a newly sworn-in governor had stood before the people of Enugu and signed a document known as the Citizens’ Charter. To many, it was another political pledge among countless others made over the years. Yet for Peter Mbah, it was something deeper. It was a covenant between government and citizens. It was a promise that governance would no longer be measured by speeches, but by visible outcomes.

    At the time, Enugu’s greatest challenge was not the condition of its roads or public facilities. It was something less visible but far more dangerous: a crisis of belief.

    For years, people had learned to lower their expectations. Too many promises had come and gone. Too many visions had remained trapped in government brochures and campaign speeches. Hope itself had become cautious. Citizens had mastered the art of expecting little so they would not be disappointed.

    Governor Mbah understood that before roads could be rebuilt, confidence had to be restored. Before investments could arrive, trust had to return. Before development could flourish, people needed a reason to believe that government could still work.

    That was the true significance of the Citizens’ Charter.

    Three years later, the answer is no longer found in policy documents. It is written across the landscape of Enugu State.

    Walk into one of the Smart Green Schools that now stand proudly across the state’s 260 wards and you immediately sense a different future unfolding. Inside classrooms where children once struggled with limited resources, pupils now interact with smart boards, computers, and digital learning tools. They discuss robotics, artificial intelligence, coding, agriculture, and science with a confidence that would have seemed unimaginable only a few years ago.

    The most remarkable part is that this revolution is not reserved for children in urban centres. It belongs equally to children in remote communities. A child growing up in a rural ward now has access to the same digital learning environment as a child in the capital city. In Enugu, the future is no longer determined by geography.

    A similar transformation is taking place in healthcare.

    Not long ago, many families travelled long distances to access even basic medical care. Expectant mothers often faced difficult journeys during emergencies. Communities were accustomed to seeing healthcare as something distant and uncertain.

    Today, Type-2 Primary Healthcare Centres are bringing quality care closer to the people. Across communities, residents can access maternal care, child healthcare, emergency services, and routine medical treatment without travelling far from home. The result has been profound. Lives are being saved. Families are receiving care when they need it most. Healthcare has become a service rather than a struggle.

    Meanwhile, another story is unfolding on the roads that connect Enugu’s towns and villages.
    For years, many communities lived with roads that isolated them from opportunity. Farmers watched produce spoil before reaching markets. Traders spent valuable time navigating poor road networks. Students endured difficult journeys to school.
    Today, road construction and reconstruction projects are changing that reality. Communities once separated by poor infrastructure are becoming connected. Farmers reach buyers more easily. Businesses move goods faster. Workers and students travel with greater ease. Every completed road tells a story of lives becoming simpler and economies becoming stronger.

    Inside the capital city, the daily experience of transportation has been rewritten.
    The arrival of modern CNG-powered buses has done more than move people from one location to another. It has restored dignity to public transportation. Commuters now board air-conditioned buses equipped with Wi-Fi, while newly constructed terminals bring order to what was once disorder. Traffic flows more efficiently. Travel is more predictable. Time is being returned to citizens.

    But perhaps some of the most symbolic victories can be found in places that once represented decline.
    For years, Hotel Presidential stood as a monument to unrealised potential. Endless litigation and neglect had reduced one of Enugu’s most iconic assets to a shadow of its former self. Many had given up hope of ever seeing it revived.

    Today, that story is changing.

    The same applies to the International Conference Centre, which has once again become a hub of activity, attracting events, visitors, and opportunities. These buildings are more than concrete structures. They shape perception. They influence confidence. Their revival sends a message that Enugu has chosen progress over stagnation.
    Then came a development that many once considered impossible.

    The launch of Enugu Air transformed the state’s connectivity profile. Flights linking Enugu to Lagos, Abuja, and Kano began creating new possibilities for business, tourism, and investment. Suddenly, Enugu was no longer simply a destination. It was becoming a gateway.

    When people and businesses can move easily, opportunities follow. Conversations that previously bypassed Enugu are now taking place within it.
    The same energy can be felt in the state’s growing technology ecosystem.

    As evening falls, ICT hubs remain active with young innovators building software solutions, creating startups, and exploring new possibilities.

    Restaurants stay open later. Businesses thrive after dark. Improved security and economic confidence are gradually changing the rhythm of life.

    For the first time in many years, many young people are beginning to see Enugu not as a place to leave, but as a place to build.

    Yet none of these achievements appeared by magic.
    Behind every completed project lies an untold story of planning, difficult decisions, and relentless execution.

    The revival of Hotel Presidential required legal battles and persistence. Road projects demanded technical studies, disciplined budgeting, and months of preparation. Transport reforms involved route planning, infrastructure development, pricing structures, and long-term sustainability considerations.

    The public sees the ribbon-cutting ceremonies. What they rarely see are the countless hours spent making those moments possible.

    The same determination shaped security reforms.
    There was a time when Mondays in Enugu felt unusually quiet. Businesses remained closed. Economic activity slowed. Fear dictated behaviour.
    Today, much of that reality has changed. Through strategic investments, coordination among security agencies, and firm leadership, the state’s economy has largely reclaimed the productive days it once lost. Markets operate. Shops open. Businesses plan with greater certainty.

    One of the most important victories of the last three years is not found in any building or road. It is found in the restoration of normalcy.

    Even political stability required deliberate effort.
    Behind closed doors, meetings were held. Stakeholders were consulted. Communities were engaged. Differences were managed. Consensus was patiently built. The work rarely made headlines, but it created the environment necessary for development to flourish.

    This is why what Enugu is experiencing today cannot simply be described as a collection of projects.
    It is something bigger.

    It is the reconstruction of an entire operating system.
    Education, healthcare, security, infrastructure, technology, investment, and public trust are being rebuilt simultaneously. Layer upon layer, a new foundation is taking shape.

    Most importantly, a state that had become accustomed to managing limitations is learning to think boldly again.

    Yet Governor Mbah insists the story is far from complete.
    Three years, he argues, represent a beginning, not an ending.

    The schools must be protected. The healthcare facilities must be sustained. The roads must be maintained. The institutions must endure beyond individual administrations. Progress becomes permanent only when citizens see it as their own responsibility.

    That is why the governor recently posed a simple but powerful question.

    Imagine waking up tomorrow and finding yourself back in the Enugu of three years ago.

    The roads are broken again.
    The city buses are gone.
    The Smart Schools disappear.
    Healthcare centres struggle.
    Hotel Presidential returns to decay.
    Technology hubs fall silent.
    Investors look elsewhere.
    Confidence evaporates.
    What would you fight to preserve?

    The answer to that question may determine the future of Enugu.

    Three years ago, this journey depended largely on vision and the courage of citizens willing to believe once again.

    Today, it depends on stewardship.

    Tomorrow Is Here can no longer be government’s project alone. It must become a shared commitment, sustained by citizens who participate, protect what has been built, and insist on continuous progress.
    When Governor Peter Mbah signed the Citizens’ Charter in 2023, he was asking the people of Enugu for trust.

    Three years later, that trust can be measured not by promises but by evidence.
    The schools are real.
    The roads are real.
    The healthcare facilities are real.
    The investments are real.
    The confidence is real.
    The direction of Enugu has changed.
    The challenge now is ensuring that the story continues.
    Because tomorrow, once imagined, has finally arrived.

    Ogbu is the SSA to the Governor of Enugu State on Strategic Communications

  • NDC, a Party Built for Reform or Centralised Control?

    NDC, a Party Built for Reform or Centralised Control?

    By Sebastine Okafor, Ph.D

    When the Nigerian Democratic Congress (NDC) was established earlier in 2026 after a long, protracted legal battle that resulted in a favourable judgment, which was not appealed by Nigeria’s electoral umpire, INEC, many did not see it as a viable opposition party due to the proximity between its establishment and the 2027 electoral timetable.

    When questioned, the national leader of the party, Senator Seriake Dickson, stated that the establishment of the Nigerian Democratic Congress (NDC) was driven by the need to preserve Nigeria’s multi-party democracy and to provide what he described as a credible ideological alternative after he believed that the foundations of the PDP had been weakened and its ideals compromised. It was a vision with which few initially aligned immediately after its establishment, without any iota of doubt, as they saw it as a political party that stands for national unity, political inclusion, youth and women empowerment, and democratic values.

    The party, on April 7, released a list of appointed Zonal Vice Chairmen across the six geopolitical zones before scheduling its congresses across the nation, which began in early May, before the entrance of Peter Gregory Obi and Senator Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso on May 3, 2026; a move seen by many as the lifeline of the political party, which could either make or mar the party.

    Since the move took place, the party has somehow turned into an anti-democratic structure that has begun exposing issues that many did not previously observe. This has made many begin to question several decisions and actions the party has taken so far.

    First, it scheduled its zonal congress to hold on May 6, 2026, but it was rumoured to have been shifted to May 9 and merged with the national convention, which did not take place. The NDC, as it stands, does not have any known zonal executives in the country, especially in the South-East region, where only one person appears to carry out the functions from the comfort of his room without any official office. Those who attended the national convention can attest to the fact that the party did not conduct any zonal congress affirmations on that day. The party also failed to disclose the names of elected national officers during the convention, which left many stunned, as there was no announcement of individuals elected into offices such as the National Publicity Secretary and the National Youth Leader. What surprised many further was the party’s announcement on May 17 that it had appointed Barr. Osa Director as its National Publicity Secretary, alongside Peter Agbo Ekele and Lawal Sambo as his deputies. This was another shocking anti-democratic error by the party. The appointment of deputy National Publicity Secretaries is not provided for in the party’s constitution, especially Article 12.2.3 (Page 23). A party established to correct the anti-democratic practices of the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) cannot appear to be practising the very actions it intends to oppose.

    Another concern observed in the party’s activities is the powers allocated to the office of the National Leader. According to Article 11.3 of the constitution (Page 17), it states:

    “The office of National Leader of the Party is hereby established.

    The National Leader of the party shall be a member of the Central Working Committee of the party, holding the office of Chairman of the Central Working Committee.

    He shall be the National Leader of the party.

    He shall be the head of every delegation of the party to which he is a member.

    He shall advise and guide the party on policy formulation.

    He shall, in all circumstances where he feels the need to do so, lead efforts at the resolution of any crisis, dispute or conflict at any level within the party.

    He shall work to ensure compliance by all officers and members of the party with all directives of the Central Working Committee and the NEC of the party.”

    In Article 17, Page 51 of the party’s constitution, it further appears to expose the party to a one-man structure by stating that:

    “The Founder/National Leader shall hold the office of National Leader of the party for a period of ten years in the first instance (calculated from the date of registration of NDC by INEC), and except where he exercises discretion not to continue in office at the end of the first term, he shall assume office for a second and final term of ten years, calculated from the date of expiration of the first tenure.”

    What this implies is that the National Leader, who clocked 60 in January 2026, potentially has up to 20 years of leadership influence. If so, he may retire only at an advanced age while still serving as the National Leader.

    Aside from the early structural concerns already raised, a closer reading of the Nigerian Democratic Congress (NDC) 2026 Constitution reveals deeper institutional tensions that could affect internal democracy, transparency, and fair political competition within the party.

    A major concern lies in the expansive discretionary powers concentrated at the top of the party hierarchy, particularly within the Central Working Committee (CWC). The constitution states that the CWC shall “suspend any member of the Working Committee of the party at any level” and also “dissolve any Working Committee of the party at any level.” While internal discipline is necessary in political organisations, the absence of clearly stated procedural safeguards—such as independent review panels, timelines for hearings, or appeal guarantees—creates room for arbitrary enforcement of disciplinary actions. This structure risks turning disciplinary mechanisms into political tools against internal dissent.

    Furthermore, the National Executive Committee (NEC) is empowered to “dissolve a State Executive Committee where necessary, and appoint a Caretaker Committee.” Although the provision limits caretaker arrangements to three months, the constitution does not define what constitutes “where necessary.” In practice, such vague wording often becomes a trigger for frequent dissolutions of elected structures, weakening the autonomy of state chapters and reducing accountability to grassroots members.

    In several states, emerging reports of caretaker-style administrations replacing elected structures without clearly conducted congresses raise concerns about compliance with the constitutional requirement that state organs be elected through congress processes. For instance, Articles 12.7 and 12.8 clearly establish that state congresses “elect officers of the Party at the State level,” while the State Working Committee must function as “the principal executing organ of the State Congress.” Where these congresses are delayed, merged, or substituted with appointments, the legitimacy of such state leadership structures becomes questionable.

    Another area of concern is the growing perception of parallel or informal selection structures operating alongside constitutional organs. While the constitution allows the CWC to “create new organs or committees of the party,” this power appears broad enough to permit the establishment of ad hoc bodies that may influence candidate selection or delegate appointments outside established congress channels. If such committees are used to predetermine outcomes of primaries or delegate lists, it directly undermines Article 15 on party primaries, which presupposes competitive, regulated, and transparent procedures.

    The issue becomes more pronounced when considered alongside Article 12.4.1 (x) and (xi), which grant the National Working Committee the power to “organize and conduct all congresses and conventions of the party at all levels,” including “the election of candidates of the party for all elections.” This centralisation of electoral administration within one organ creates a structural imbalance where the same body responsible for party administration also controls candidate selection. Without independent electoral panels or neutral supervisory mechanisms, internal primaries risk being perceived as predetermined exercises.

    At zonal and ward levels, there are also concerns about uneven implementation of congress guidelines. The constitution provides for structured participation at every level, including ward congresses made up of “all duly registered card-carrying members.” However, in practice, allegations in some areas suggest restricted accreditation processes and selective invitation of delegates, which contradict the inclusive membership principle embedded in Article 10, which guarantees equal participation and voting rights for registered members.

    The tenure arrangement for the National Leader also raises governance concerns. Article 17 provides for a potentially extended leadership period of up to twenty years, renewable under certain conditions. While long-term continuity may provide stability, it also raises questions about leadership rotation, internal competition, and generational inclusion in party leadership.

    Moreover, several critical questions arise for objective observers regarding the operational guidelines of the NDC. These include: How independent are state and zonal congresses if caretaker committees can replace elected structures without clearly defined thresholds for intervention? What safeguards exist to prevent the CWC from using its power to dissolve committees as a political correction tool rather than a disciplinary measure? If the National Working Committee controls both administration and candidate selection processes, who arbitrates disputes arising from contested primaries? Are ad hoc committees being used to indirectly determine outcomes of congresses or delegate lists, contrary to the spirit of Articles 12.1 and 15? What mechanisms exist for ordinary members to challenge decisions taken by higher organs without fear of suspension under broad disciplinary provisions?

    Taken together, these structural patterns suggest that while the constitution of the NDC contains formal democratic language and multi-layered governance organs, its practical operation could tilt heavily toward centralised control unless strict internal checks, transparent implementation, and independent dispute-resolution mechanisms are actively enforced.

  • Fourteen Days Too Long

    Fourteen Days Too Long

    -By Abdul Mahmud

    Fourteen days have passed since armed men tore through the safety of a school in Oyo State and carried away teachers and pupils whose only offence was to be present in a place dedicated to education and learning. Fourteen days have passed since families were thrust into a state of anguish that no parent, spouse, sibling or child should ever experience. Fourteen days have passed since ordinary Nigerians began each morning hoping for news of freedom and ended each night with uncertainty. The voices emerging from captivity are painful to hear. They carry the weight of fear, anguish and dying hope. When the video of Mrs. Alamu appeared in the social media pleading, “Please, negotiate with them. Don’t leave us in the bush. The adults and children are suffering under the rain and sun. Don’t use force. Don’t let them waste our lives,” she spoke from a place that many of us can scarcely imagine. Her plea was neither self-serving nor contrived, it was the plea of a mother desperate to see herself and the children in captivity return home alive.

    Behind every victim is a family caught between hope and despair. There are parents staring at empty beds. There are children longing to reunite with their beloved siblings. There are relatives whose phones ring and whose hearts race with every incoming call. Daily life continues around them, but time has taken on a different meaning. Each hour feels longer. Each day deepens the burden they carry.

    Public discussion about kidnapping often gravitates towards security briefings, operational updates and official statements. Such conversations have their place. They are necessary. They help us understand the scale of the challenge confronting the country. They can, however, create distance between the public and the suffering of those at the centre of these tragedies. The victims in Oyo are not statistics. They are people whose lives were interrupted in a brutal manner. Some are teachers who chose a profession rooted in service to humanity. They entered classrooms to shape young minds and contribute to the future of their communities. Others are pupils whose days should be occupied by lessons, friendships and dreams of what they might become. Their captivity represents more than a security incident. It is an assault on the dignity of human life and on the promise that schools ought to embody.

    Schools occupy a special place in every nation. They are where parents send their children with trust. They are where nations invest their aspirations. A child walking into a classroom should never become a hostage. A teacher standing before pupils should never have to contemplate survival in a forest at the hands of armed abductors. This tragedy also confronts us with a moral questions. How do we respond when fellow citizens cry out for help? Do we sit on our palms as the government is doing at the moment and do nothing? Compassion cannot be confined to mere public statements expressing sympathy. The anguish of these victims calls for urgency on the part of the government to act. Act decisively. The federal and Oyo state governments must treat every passing day as precious.

    The emotional appeals from captivity reveal conditions that are becoming increasingly unbearable. Exposure to rain and scorching weather presents risks that extend beyond discomfort. Children are especially vulnerable. Physical hardship compounds psychological trauma. Every additional day in captivity carries consequences that may endure long after freedom is secured.

    Today, across our country, communities have become familiar with stories of abduction. Familiarity, however, must never harden us into indifference. Every kidnapping should disturb the conscience of the nation. Every victim deserves recognition as a fellow citizen whose life carries immeasurable value. Many Nigerians who watched and listened to Mrs. Alamu’s plea will hear echoes of their own fears. Parents will imagine their children in similar circumstances. Teachers will picture colleagues enduring uncertainty far from home. Citizens across the country will recognise how quickly ordinary lives can be taken away by the beasts who live in the forests of our country . Today, the most urgent concern is the safe return of those being held. Their families deserve relief from this torment. Their communities deserve reunion and healing. The children deserve an opportunity to resume their education. The teachers deserve the chance to return to the profession they embraced in service to others.

    Fourteen days is far too long for any child to spend in captivity. Fourteen days is far too long for any teacher to endure fear in the wilderness. Fourteen days is far too long for families to wait for the embrace of loved ones. Our country must hear their voices. Our rulers must remember their humanity. We must all remain steadfast in the pursuit of their freedom until every one of them comes home.

  • The Economy of Fear and the Business of Insecurity; How Insecurity is Quietly Taxing Nigeria to its Eventual Implosion

    The Economy of Fear and the Business of Insecurity; How Insecurity is Quietly Taxing Nigeria to its Eventual Implosion

    By Ikenna Igwe 

    ​Nigeria’s economic crisis is no longer only about inflation, the Naira, and well-being. It is about fear—and fear, in today’s Nigeria, has become one of the most expensive items in the national budget, even when it never appears on a budget line.

    ​A farmer abandons his land because the road is no longer safe. A trader pays more to move goods because every journey now carries an unspoken security premium. A parent hesitates before sending a child to school, not because education has lost value, but because the road to learning has become a corridor of risk. In May 2026, at least 42 pupils were reported missing after suspected militants attacked a school in Askira-Uba, Borno State, a chilling reminder that the old nightmare of school abductions is not history, but a recurring reality.

    ​This is the contradiction at the heart of Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s Nigeria. On paper, the macroeconomic story has improved. The IMF says the government has taken “important steps” to stabilize the economy by removing fuel subsidies, ending central bank deficit financing, and improving the foreign exchange market. Official data show Nigeria’s GDP grew 3.89% year-on-year in the first quarter of 2026. But the IMF also warns that poverty and food insecurity remain high, and Reuters reported at Tinubu’s mid-term mark that inflation and insecurity continue to overshadow the government’s reform narrative. Is that not an irony in itself?

    ​The deeper problem is that insecurity does not only kill people. It distorts prices, breaks supply chains, weakens labor mobility, scares off capital, and lowers the horizon of ambition. It is not just a security problem. It is an economic tax.

    ​Look across the country and the pattern is hard to ignore. In Plateau State, gunmen killed at least 30 people in a university community in March 2026. In Katsina State, Reuters reported that gunmen killed at least 10 people in May, burned homes, and looted livestock in another rural attack. In Zamfara, Amnesty said at least 100 civilians were killed in a market airstrike in May, a claim the military disputed while insisting reports of mass civilian deaths were unverified. In Kwara, Reuters reported that 170 people were killed in a February village attack that raised fears that jihadist violence was spreading into new territory. Different states, different actors, same message: insecurity is no longer peripheral to the Nigerian economy. It is embedded in it.

    ​Agriculture is where this damage becomes most visible. Daily Trust and The Guardian reported that farmers in northern Nigeria have been abandoning farms after attacks, with some paying levies to armed groups and others fleeing entirely. That has direct economic consequences in a country already battling food inflation. The Central Bank of Nigeria’s inflation data show headline inflation at 15.69% in April 2026 and food inflation at 16.06%. When farms are deserted, roads become unsafe, and haulage grows more expensive, insecurity does not sit beside inflation as a separate problem; it actively feeds it.

    ​Then there is the kidnapping economy, which is one of the clearest signs that criminal violence has evolved into an industry. SBM Intelligence reported that between July 2024 and June 2025, at least 4,722 people were abducted in 997 incidents across Nigeria, with at least ₦2.56 billion paid in ransom. That is not just a crime wave. It is a parallel market, one that pulls money out of households and businesses and redirects it into a violent underground economy. In a country trying to attract investment and widen its tax base, that is a devastating misallocation of resources.

    ​The social cost is even harder to measure because it arrives disguised as lost future potential. UNICEF says 8.4 million people in northeast, northwest, and north-central Nigeria will require humanitarian assistance in 2026, including 5 million children, while more than 3.7 million people are displaced. These are not only humanitarian statistics. They are economic warnings. A child out of school because of violence is not just a victim of the present; that child may become part of the country’s future productivity loss. A displaced family is not only a welfare concern; it is also a broken unit of production, consumption, and local demand.

    ​The Tinubu administration has not shied away from pointing to some gains, especially in the oil sector and in macroeconomic management. The IMF and World Bank have both acknowledged improved stability, and Reuters has reported stronger fiscal indicators and steadier growth. A government can improve balance sheets, but if farmers cannot farm, children cannot learn safely, traders cannot move goods confidently, and businesses keep adding a violence premium to every calculation, then growth becomes statistical before it becomes lived, and recognition from international partners doesn’t change that fact.

    ​The real danger now is normalization. Once school attacks reappear in Borno, village killings spread from Plateau to Katsina, and displacement becomes routine across large swathes of the country, the economy begins to adapt to insecurity instead of overcoming it. Businesses become cautious. Families lower expectations. Investors become selective. The country starts pricing fear into daily life. And economies that adapt to fear do not become dynamic; they become permanently defensive.

    ​Tinubu and the Nigerian populace are living two stories at once: the official story of stabilization pushed through public relations and security enforcement, and the lived story of fear and agony. The first may reassure foreign markets for a while and secure additional loans from China and the IMF. The second will decide the country’s future.

    ​And that is the price of fear: it does not only bury the dead. It quietly discounts the living and shrinks the future before it arrives.

  • [SPOTLIGHT] Meet Amobi Ezeaku, Fidelis Ilechukwu — The Duo Behind Rangers F.C’s Impressive Winning Streak

    [SPOTLIGHT] Meet Amobi Ezeaku, Fidelis Ilechukwu — The Duo Behind Rangers F.C’s Impressive Winning Streak

    Behind Rangers International FC’s remarkable and record-extending ninth Nigeria Premier Football League (NPFL) title triumph are two figures whose partnership has transformed the Enugu-based club into one of the most formidable sides in Nigerian football — General Manager Amobi Ezeaku and Head Coach Fidelis Ilechukwu.

    The club’s historic triumph and record-extending ninth Nigeria Premier Football League (NPFL) title is the story of a combination of strategic leadership, technical discipline, and a renewed winning mentality

    While Ezeaku provided the administrative leadership, strategic direction, and stability off the pitch, Ilechukwu has transformed the squad on the pitch into one of the most consistent and tactically efficient teams in the league forging a combination that powered Rangers through a dominant campaign and restored the Flying Antelopes to the summit of Nigerian football.

    From boardroom decisions to matchday execution, the Ezeaku-Ilechukwu partnership has become central to Rangers’ revival story. Their shared vision, resilience, and commitment to excellence have not only delivered silverware but also reignited the club’s identity as one of Nigeria’s most successful football institutions. Below is a closer look at the men behind Rangers’ latest success story.

    Club President/General Manager, Barr. Amobi Ezeaku 

    Amobi Ezeaku

    Amobi Ezeaku is a sports lawyer, football executive, and FIFA Pro Bono Counsel. He currently serves as the Chief Executive Officer of Rangers International Football Club of Enugu, one of Africa’s most historic and successful football clubs.

    A graduate of the FIFA Master in Management, Law and Humanities of Sport and an alumnus of the UEFA Academy, Amobi combines academic depth with practical leadership in African football. Under his leadership, Rangers won the 2023/2024 Nigeria Premier Football League title, secured multiple commercial partnerships, revitalized youth development through the Rangers Academicals, and launched community-focused programs such as the Rangers Foundation and School Orientation Rounds.

    Beyond club management, Amobi heads the Sports Law section at Lexsetters LLP, where he advises on sports governance, contracts, dispute resolution, and regulatory compliance. His legal expertise spans both domestic and international frameworks, reflecting a deep interest in how law and governance shape the modern sports industry.

    Amobi is passionate about using law and management to drive transparency, sustainability, and inclusion in sports across Africa. His work bridges the worlds of legal policy, football management, and youth empowerment—anchored by his belief that sports can be a powerful instrument for education, justice, and social change.

    Coach Fidelis Ilechukwu

    Fidelis Ilechukwu
    Fidelis Ilechukwu

    Coach Fidelis Ilechukwu has steadily carved a reputation for himself as one of Nigeria’s most astute and hardworking football tacticians, and his current dual role speaks volumes about his growing influence in the game.

    Serving simultaneously as an Assistant Coach of the Super Eagles and the Head Coach of Rangers International of Enugu, Ilechukwu embodies a rare blend of technical depth, resilience, and managerial intelligence.

    Handling responsibilities at both the national and club levels is no easy task. The demands are intense, the expectations are high, and the margin for error is often slim. Yet, Ilechukwu has shown remarkable composure in navigating these challenges. With the Super Eagles, he contributes to shaping the tactical direction of one of Africa’s most celebrated national teams, working alongside top professionals and managing elite players on the international stage.

    At the same time, his role at Rangers International places him right in the heart of the Nigeria Premier Football League (NPFL), where competition is fierce and consistency is key.  His ability to maintain focus, discipline, and performance across both fronts highlights not just his technical knowledge, but also his mental strength and organizational skill.

    What makes Ilechukwu’s journey even more compelling is his attention to detail and his ability to maximize the potential of his players. Known for his tactical flexibility and motivational approach, he has built teams that are difficult to break down, yet effective going forward. His philosophy reflects modern football principles while still adapting to the unique challenges of the Nigerian league.

    Balancing national assignments with club duties requires more than just knowledge of the game—it demands leadership, time management, and an unwavering commitment to excellence.

    In Fidelis Ilechukwu, Nigerian football has a coach who continues to prove that with determination and technical ability, it is possible to excel at the highest levels simultaneously. Ilechukwu remains a key figure whose impact is both visible and deeply respected. His story is not just about holding two positions—it is about mastering them.

    FA Cup Double and CAF Champions League

    Earlier in April, Rangers International Football Club of Enugu etched their name into the history books after both the men’s and women’s teams emerged champions of the Enugu State FA Cup, further underlining the club’s growing dominance in domestic football. The remarkable feat reinforced Rangers’ status as one of Nigeria’s most successful football institutions and highlighted the club’s renewed competitive edge across all levels.

    The achievements have now been capped with an even bigger milestone, as Rangers International F.C secured qualification for next season’s CAF Champions League following their triumphant Nigeria Premier Football League campaign. The qualification marks a return to continental football for the Flying Antelopes and serves as a testament to the strategic leadership, technical discipline, and winning mentality that have defined the club’s resurgence.

    For many supporters, the recent successes reflect a new era of ambition and stability at Rangers, driven by a blend of strong management, tactical brilliance, and sustained institutional support. With domestic silverware secured and continental football beckoning, expectations are already rising ahead of what promises to be another defining chapter in the club’s storied history.

  • The Next Phase: Transformational Leadership of Tomorrow is Here

    The Next Phase: Transformational Leadership of Tomorrow is Here

    By Dr. John Egbo, Deputy Sheriff (rtd.) 

    A new era of visionary governance and people-oriented leadership has truly emerged in Enugu State, championed by His Excellency Peter Ndubuisi Mbah, the Governor of Enugu State. It is a leadership driven by innovation, courage, accountability, and sustainable development. The next phase is not merely about continuing the journey; it is about accelerating progress, deepening impact, and building a future where every citizen can thrive.

    In less than three years in office, Governor Peter Mbah has transformed the state across virtually every index of growth, delivering a level of development that has surpassed the expectations of both residents and observers beyond the state. From infrastructure renewal to economic expansion, educational reforms, improved security, and investment-driven governance, Enugu State is steadily reclaiming its place as one of Nigeria’s most progressive states.

    What is the driving force behind this transformational leader? To the average Nigerian, Peter Mbah is a man with a large heart and a burning desire to leave enduring legacies beyond conventional expectations. His international exposure and professional training in Europe have clearly influenced his ambitious drive to position Enugu State beyond what many once considered possible. His governance style reflects global standards of leadership anchored on efficiency, productivity, innovation, and strategic planning.

    Transformational leadership is defined by the ability to inspire hope, create opportunities, and deliver measurable results. It is leadership that prioritizes infrastructure, economic growth, security, education, healthcare, youth empowerment, and human capital development. More importantly, it is leadership with the foresight to prepare today for the demands of tomorrow.

    Peter Ndubuisi Mbah represents a new phase of leadership worthy of emulation and sustainability if Enugu is to fully regain its historic glory as the Coal City of Africa, a city that played a pioneering role in Nigeria’s industrial revolution and the nation’s march toward independence since 1909. Enugu was once a symbol of enterprise, productivity, and economic strength, and today, the state is witnessing the rebirth of that legacy through purposeful governance.

    The arrival of Peter Mbah in Enugu State has sparked a renewed national conversation about visionary leadership, industrialization, and the possibilities of governance in Nigeria. What once appeared Herculean and unattainable is gradually becoming reality through deliberate planning, strategic execution, and a leadership philosophy built on results rather than rhetoric.

    The future belongs to leaders who are proactive rather than reactive, strategic rather than political, and committed to service rather than self-interest. The next phase represents a renewed commitment to excellence, inclusiveness, transparency, and sustainable growth. It is a bold declaration that the future is not distant; the future is already here.

    Indeed, under the transformational leadership of Peter Ndubuisi Mbah, Enugu State is not merely dreaming about tomorrow; it is building it today.