The Pacesetter Frontier Magazine

Tag: #PacesetterFrontier

  • Nigeria Mourns

    Nigeria Mourns

    By Abdul Mahmud

    Two incidents drew attention to our country’s deepening security crisis this month. The first happened in Zamfara State. A pregnant woman was abducted by terrorists. She gave birth while in captivity. The leader of the terrorist group took her newborn twins. Then he threw them to his dogs. The dogs ate the babies alive. One after the other. The second occurred in Kogi. Lanlege Samuel Adewale was kidnapped in Kabba. He tried to protect his neck from a machete. His left hand was chopped off instead.

    These are not moonlight tales spun to amuse children or transmit ancestral wisdom. They are not the parables of old, meant to echo the values of bygone eras or light the moral path for the future. Or put another way, they are not the moral scaffoldings of ancestral wisdom. They are not the echoes of a noble past meant to instruct the future. No. These are the brutal chronicles of a country in descent. These are simply the grotesque accounts of a country that bear neither lesson nor legend, only the raw stench of evil and the deafening silence of a state in retreat. Such horrors happen every day. Some are reported. Most are not. The victims vanish into the dark forests of our country. Families pay ransom, bury the dead, or live with permanent scars. The ones live to recount their stories.

    This is not just about crime. It is not just insecurity. It is a state failure. A classical state failure. Across large swathes of our country, the government no longer governs. Bandits and terrorists have taken over. They run parallel governments. They control territories. They rule by fear. They collect taxes. They impose laws. They deliver jungle justice. There is a governance crisis. A catastrophe that is palpable and visible. The basics of statehood are absent. Where our country isn’t struggling to exist within itself, it is ceding many parts of itself. It no longer imposes its authority in many parts. In some places, it is an absent authority. From Zamfara to Katsina. From Borno to Zamfara, Plateau in-between, bandits and terrorists have seized land, people, and local power. From Kwara to Niger, they are building and resuscitating terror cells. Abuja is too close for comfort. Be afraid; be very afraid. Of the truth, these are not ragtag criminals. They are terrorists. Organised. Armed. Funded. And strategic, to the extent that their purpose is to turn our country into an Islamic caliphate.

    They understand our country’s weaknesses. And they exploit them.

    Meanwhile, our country is slow to tackling the menace. Disorganised. Reactive. Often silent. Security meetings have become the favourite occupation of the president and his men. All talks about threats to national security. No action. The threats grow. The danger gets closer home. The military is everywhere. But nowhere. Soldiers are deployed in 34 of 36 states. Still, citizens are kidnapped daily. Villages are attacked. Markets are raided. The police are overwhelmed. Intelligence agencies don’t coordinate. Information is hoarded, not shared. Budgets are announced, but weapons don’t arrive. Fighting troops complain of old rifles, low morale, and unpaid allowances.

    The security architecture is broken.

    But, perhaps, the most tragic failure is the State Security Service (SSS). This is the Service that should be leading the fight against terrorism. The one with the power to detect plots, infiltrate networks, and prevent attacks. But what does it do? It tracks critics. Professor Pat Utomi is its latest victim. The grouse against him is that the opposition’s shadow government he proposes in a democracy is a threat to democracy itself. Ludicrous. Utomi is not the threat. The real threats are the terrorists who operate in the forests of our country, occasionally foraying into towns to cause mayhem and chaos. But the SSS chases citizens rather than hunt down the terrorists. Our country is on fire, and our spooks are chasing rats. This is not intelligence work. This is a distraction. And it is dangerous. Does it not show how far our country and its institutions have drifted from their purposes?

    The duty of any country is to protect lives and property. Everything else comes after. If a government cannot provide security, it loses legitimacy. Here, today, legitimacy bleeds. Citizens no longer trust their country. They no longer rely on it for safety. They turn to local hunters, vigilantes, and militias. In the North-West and North-Central, armed groups like Yan Sakai and local vigilantes fill the gap. In the South-East, the Eastern Security Network claims to defend the Igbos. In the South-West, Amotekun was born out of frustration. These groups often do what the police won’t. But they are not trained. They are not regulated. Sometimes they protect. Other times they kill. They will eventually become the problem. Sooner. Not later.

    The more people turn away from our country, the weaker our country becomes. This is how countries collapse. Not all at once. But in pieces.

    Village by village. Town by town. City by city. State by state.

    The warning signs are clear.

    More than 3 million citizens are displaced. Whole communities have fled their ancestral lands. Children are out of school. Farmers have abandoned farms. Food prices have soared. Bandits burn crops and demand ransom before planting. Insecurity now fuels hunger. Hunger fuels desperation. Desperation fuels violence. The economy suffers. Investors flee. Jobs vanish. Even Abuja, once safe, is under siege. Kidnappings happen in the suburbs. Gunmen raid homes. No place is truly safe. Our country is under siege. But this government acts like it’s business as usual. Its spokespersons hold press briefings. They issue press statements. Occasionally, the president issues marching orders to the Service Chiefs. The Service Chiefs make promises. The other arm of government, the legislature, often straddles the Fanonian fence of indifference, watching crises unfold like a passive spectator. Now, and then, it stirs like the wind in the trees, bringing nothing to life, to paraphrase that late great American writer and humourist, E.B White. It is always half-awake, half-concerned. Its knee-jerk? A committee. Then another. An endless parade of legislative committees clothed in the garb of urgency. The latest act in this tired play is the proposed Senate’s ad-hoc committee, chaired by my old friend, Opeyemi Bamidele, to organise a three-day national security summit. Another grand convocation of platitudes. Another theatre of absurd deliberations. But as always, no plan, no resolve, no action, just photo ops. Just echoes in the hall, and silence on the ground. Then, they move on. The killings continue.

    The government must change course. And it must act fast.

    Security must be redefined. Not just by the number of troops. But by presence, intelligence, speed, and effectiveness. Security agencies must share information. They must work together. Not against each other. The State Security Service must turn its gaze in the direction of terrorists, not on the tongues of citizens. Its mandate is to safeguard the nation, not to muzzle dissent. President Tinubu once declared, “Let the poor breathe.” I say now, with equal urgency: let the citizens speak. Let them question. Let them protest. Let them shout into the winds of power without fear. For the lifeblood of democracy is not silence, but speech. The real enemies of the state do not hide behind hashtags. They bear arms and spread terror. The threat is not in tweets, but in the ticking of bombs. The top brass of our military must shed its old, corrosive habit of turning defence budgets into personal fortunes. The battlefield, not the bank, is where its loyalty must lie. Their true duty is not in procurement scandals, but in the protection of citizens. It must secure our borders with honour, and neutralise the terror that stalks our country. It must dismantle every enclave where terrorists find shelter, where fear nests and multiplies. But more than that, it must wage a parallel war for the hearts and minds of our citizens. For no victory is complete if communities feel invaded, not embraced. The soldier must be seen not as a conqueror, but as a shield. Not as a stranger, but as a guardian-angel. When our police force isn’t engulfed in bribery and corruption, it shows up shaking down citizens at roadblocks and on street corners, not injustice. Its presence breeds fear, not safety. This must change. We need a new vision of policing; one rooted in reform, not repression. A Police Force that serves, not shakes down. Our country cries out for local policing. Officers drawn from our communities. Trained not only in tactics, but in the language and customs of our people. Equipped not just with weapons, but with intelligence, empathy, and the trust of those they serve. Real security begins when the badge is a symbol of safety, not the insignia of exploitation.

    Security, though essential, is not sufficient on its own. No country shoot its way to peace. Citizens must confront the uncomfortable truths. They must ask the tough questions: what drives their compatriots into the arms of bandits and terrorists? What poisons their souls so deeply that terrorism, banditry and kidnapping become their vocations? The answers are etched in the margins of society: anger, poverty, unemployment, despair. These are not just statistics; they are the seeds of rebellion, sown in the fields of the countryside abandoned by justice and forgotten by opportunity. Until our country addresses the silence in empty stomachs and the ache in idle hands, the minds of those left behind, forgotten, will remain the devil’s workshop. No wall will be high enough, no gun will be strong enough to secure the peace our country seeks.

    But, there are specific things our country must do to stem the blood tide. The North, which is at the heart of the current conflagration, has millions of out-of-school children. The highest in the world. These children become easy targets. Our country and its rulers must invest in education. In jobs. In agriculture. In dignity. When angry children have no stake in a country, they are the first to join up in the parade of torches to burn their country. Governors must stop building endless flyovers where there are no persistent gridlocks. And start building security. They must stop funding convoys that stretch from Timbuktu to Samarkand. Serengeti, in-between. And start funding police stations. They must stop stealing. And start governing. Tinubu’s government must lead. But states must act.

    There is no excuse for this terror stalking our country. None. Our country is bleeding. Citizens are already losing faith. Losing hope. Every day, more citizens flee. To Europe. To Canada. To anywhere. Those who stay live in fear. Our country and its rulers must act now. Or it will be too late. Our country needs to be saved. But saving it requires courage. Truth. Discipline. It requires facing reality. Not spinning lies. Time is running out.

    Our country is burning. While history has many examples in Somalia, Libya and Syria, our rulers should stop chasing rats.

    They should put out the fire as citizens mourn their dead. And Nigeria mourns. In this shadow of mourning, grief descends like a heavy fog, thick, suffocating, inescapable. Hearts, fragile and weary, reach out for solace. In the sacred rhythm of the Beatitudes, we hear the solemn promise: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” But in our country of unending funerals, who brings comfort to mourners? Who wipes the tears of mothers burying sons, of fathers clutching silence where laughter once lived? Who stands in the breach for citizens battered by loss and forgotten by power?

    Nigeria mourns, but where is the hand that heals? Where is the balm for this collective sorrow?

  • When Public Servants Sit Tight, Nigeria Burns

    When Public Servants Sit Tight, Nigeria Burns

    By Abdul Mahmud

    A few weeks ago, the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB) released the results of its annual Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination (UTME) which recorded mass failures and sparked national outrage. Entire regions, specifically the South East, and Centres in Lagos State, reported mass failures.

    Parents panicked. Students despaired. Teachers were confused. For many candidates, the poor results didn’t match the effort they had put into preparation. In some homes, quarrels erupted. In others, silence and tears took over. A few contemplated to take their own lives. In Lagos, Miss Faith Timilehin Opesusi committed suicide for scoring the low mark of 190. The entire country was on edge. The Minister of Education rubbed his hands in glee, while “describing the examination process as meeting international standards and being almost foolproof against malpractice”. The Registrar, Prof Oloyede, basking in self-glory, echoed: “JAMB’s robust and secure processes have set a new benchmark for examinations in Nigeria and affirmed the Board’s commitment to sustaining and improving these standards”.

    For weeks, JAMB offered no real explanation for the mass failure. Yet, behind the scenes, the Board knew what had happened. It was not the students who failed. It was JAMB and Oloyede.

    JAMB’s internal computer systems failed. A glitch in its software distorted the entire examination process. The Registrar, Professor Ishaq Oloyede, was aware of the problem. He knew the results did not reflect actual performance. But he said nothing while thousands of children suffered the trauma of failure. He said nothing while parents bore the shame of imagined academic failure. He remained silent while dreams were temporarily destroyed.

    The truth only came to light because of the work of a private citizen. His name is Alex Onyia. He is not a government official. He is not a regulator. He is not on the JAMB board. He is an IT professional and education enthusiast. But he did what the head of the exam body refused to do. Onyia analysed the results. He noticed a pattern. He used technology to uncover the glitch in JAMB’s system. He made his findings public. Then, JAMB was forced to respond. Only after Onyia’s revelations did Professor Oloyede admit to the failure. He went on national television. He apologised. He shed tears. But his tears rang hollow. They came too late. A citizen had killed herself. The damage had already been done.

    What followed next is typical of Nigeria, of Nigeria’s anyhow-ness. Rather than resign, Professor Oloyede continues to stay tight in office. Despite public calls for him to step down. Despite his admission that JAMB’s systems had failed. Despite the emotional and psychological trauma caused to thousands of students. He is simply sitting tight. This refusal to resign, even in the face of obvious failure, is a defining feature of Nigeria’s public service culture.

    In 2020, the UK’s exams regulator, Ofqual, faced a similar situation. Algorithmic adjustments to grades during the COVID-19 pandemic caused widespread outrage. Students were downgraded unfairly. Within days, the head of Ofqual, Sally Collier, resigned. She took responsibility. She showed dignity. She respected the trust placed in her office. That is what happens in countries where accountability matters. In Nigeria, we do the opposite. We cling to office. We treat public service as a lifetime appointment. We see resignation as defeat. We treat failure as a minor inconvenience. In fact, many see resignation as an alien concept. It doesn’t exist in the dictionary of the Nigerian elite. When officials are caught in wrongdoing, they sit tight. When they are exposed for corruption, they sit tight. When their policies fail, they blame others and sit tight. Sometimes, they even get promoted.

    This culture of impunity is dangerous. It kills public trust. It weakens institutions. It emboldens more incompetence. When a public official admits to a massive institutional failure but refuses to resign, what message does that send? It tells future officials that actions have no consequences. It tells the public that accountability is optional. It tells victims of failure that their suffering means nothing.

    Oloyede’s conduct fits into a larger pattern.

    A Minister’s convoy kills a pedestrian. He blames the driver. He sits tight. Another Minister diverts food meant for school pupils. She cries witch-hunt. She sits tight. A director is caught falsifying records. He blames junior staff. He sits tight. No shame. No remorse. No resignations. Our public space is dominated by people who see office as a right, not a privilege. They see it as personal property, not a position of service. And when they fail, they expect applause for merely surviving the storm.

    It was not always like this.

    In the early years of Nigeria’s independence, resignation from office carried weight. In the First Republic, ministers stepped down when their actions cast doubt on government credibility. There was a sense of honour. A belief that public office required a moral compass. That compass is now lost. What has taken its place is arrogance. Entitlement. Impunity.

    In advanced democracies, the idea of public trust is sacred. Resignation is not a sign of weakness. It is a demonstration of responsibility. It preserves the integrity of institutions. It restores confidence in governance. It allows healing to begin. In Nigeria, by contrast, public servants fight to remain. Even when their continued presence causes embarrassment to the government. Even when their failures are too glaring to hide. They mobilise ethnic sentiment. They play the religion card. They frame their refusal to resign as an act of resilience. Meanwhile, the institutions they head crumble.

    Oloyede’s tears cannot wash away the betrayal felt by students. His apology cannot undo the anxiety faced by parents. His tears cannot bring Faith Timilehin Opesusi back to life. His refusal to resign sends a clear message: in Nigeria, no one is ever responsible.

    We must challenge this culture. The Nigerian public must demand more. Citizens must insist on accountability. The media must continue to speak out. Civil society must not go silent. Opposition parties must do more than issue press statements. It is not enough to expose failure. There must be consequences. Public servants must understand that they serve at the pleasure of the people. When they fail the people, they must leave.

    Young people, in particular, must not forget this episode. The students who suffered because of JAMB’s negligence must remember what it felt like. Their pain must fuel a desire for change. For reform. For a system where justice is swift and accountability is real. The time has come to build a new culture of public service. A culture that rewards honesty. That punishes negligence. That promotes competence. That makes resignation a noble act, not a shameful one.

    Let Professor Oloyede be the last of his kind. Let future public officials know that failure has consequences. Let them understand that leadership is not a throne, but a trust. When things go wrong, we must expect them to take the honourable path. We must not wait for foreign examples. We must build our own standards. Our own values. Our own culture of accountability. Nigeria cannot grow with public officials who never leave. We cannot progress if we reward failure with promotion. We cannot heal if our leaders remain unmoved by public pain. It is time to end the era of sitting tight. It is time to raise the bar. This moment must serve as the turning point in which the era of impunity gives way to responsibility. Public office means what it should: service, not survival.

    Until then, Nigeria will continue to burn. And those who lit the fire will still be sitting tight. Professor Oloyede, please, go.

    Please, go.

  • Mahmuda, Lakurawa and the Urgency of Securitisation

    Mahmuda, Lakurawa and the Urgency of Securitisation

    By Abdul Mahmud

    Terrorism is changing in the northern region of our country. The faces are new. Some are old. The methods are familiar. The threat is growing. Two new groups have emerged. One is Mahmuda. The other is Lakurawa. Add the familiar curmudgeons: ISWAP, Boko Haram and Ansaru and you will have a clearer glimpse of the deadly compositions and boundaries of the ill-tempered cauldrons they have established in the north – from Kwara State to the fringes of Zamfara State. Their names are now etched into the long, tragic history of terror in our country.

    One Sunday night last month, suspected members of Mahmuda struck. They attacked Ilesha Baruba and Kemaanji. These are peaceful towns in Kwara State. The attacks stretched across Baruten and Kaiama local governments. Lives were lost. Families were displaced. Silence descended after violence. Mahmuda is a new name. But the pattern is old. Sudden strikes. Coordinated assaults on vulnerable citizens in remote villages. The terrorist group is expanding. It has now entered Niger State. This is dangerous.

    Lakurawa is another new group which operates largely in the northwest. Its ideology is extreme. Its actions are brutal. The terrorists who people the group flog citizens for listening to music. Music. An act of joy. An act of identity.The federal government has declared Lakurawa a terrorist group. This is a step in the right direction. But it came late. Lakurawa has been active for years. It crossed into our country from Niger. Its members settled in border communities. They married local women. They recruited local youths. They became part of the social fabric. Then, they turned it into a web of violence. Lakurawa is not alone. It has ties to jihadist factions in Mali and Niger. The Sahel is burning. The fire is spreading south. Our country’s borders are porous. And terror and terrorists move freely. Our country is now the fertile ground for terrorism. A cradle for a new kind of war. A war without honour. Without fronts. Without rules. It is the war Professor Richard English, one of the world’s foremost scholars on terrorism, calls a distinct form of warfare. One that feeds on fear. Thrives in broken states. Spreads in the cracks of our silence. It is not fought on battlefields, but in markets, mosques, and schools. It creeps into daily life. It redraws the map of safety. This is the war our citizens now face. The war our country allowed to take root.

    The emergence of these new groups poses deep threats to national security. To public order and safety. To our collective peace. These are not isolated criminals. They are ideologically driven. They have military training. They have weapons. They have intent. Their goal is domination. Not just of space, but of minds. They do not only kill. They control. They dictate how people live. What they hear. What they wear. What they believe. This is not just crime. This is terrorism. And terrorism is war. It is a war without fronts. A war without uniforms. A war against the state. Yet, our country is slow. It is uncoordinated. Its responses are reactive, not preventive. It cannot continue like this.

    This is where securitisation becomes relevant.

    Ole Waever and Barry Buzan, two scholars in international relations, introduced this concept. It is simple, yet powerful.

    Securitisation means turning a political issue into a security issue. It means naming it as an existential threat. It means treating it urgently. Like a war. Like a pandemic. I must place a caveat here: not every issue should be securitised. But some must. Terrorism is one of them. Waever argues correctly that securitisation begins with a speech act. A leader says: “This is dangerous.” That speech changes everything. It moves the issue from routine politics to emergency politics. Once securitised, the issue gets priority. Resources flow. Action follows. Our country must securitise Mahmuda and Lakurawa. These are not bandits. These are terrorists. These are ogres. Call them that. Treat them as such- the enemies of the state. But, it goes beyond treating terrorists as enemies, our leaders must act. Not just talk. They must frame the threats in clear, urgent terms. They must explain it to the citizens. They must build support for tough measures. And they must implement those measures.

    Securitisation helps build consensus around emergent threats. It unites security agencies. It gives the military a clear mandate. It galvanises public awareness. But securitisation also comes with responsibility. It must not be abused. It must not target political opponents. It must not trample on rights. It must be precise. It must be justified.

    Mahmuda and Lakurawa justify it.

    There is also the need for intelligence reforms. These terrorist groups did not appear overnight. They grew under the radar. They expanded in plain sight. They took root in the vast forgotten and ungoverned spaces of our country. They fed on religious extremism, raw, rigid, and restless. A pervasive restlessness so often twisted into a cry for blood. The North, long burdened by fragile fault lines, became the staging ground of terrorists. It offered not just land, but history. A history where belief has too often flirted with brutality. Where fervour, when unmoored from reason, spills easily into violence. In this space, ideology became a weapon. And faith, once sacred, was repurposed into fire. If intelligence had worked, Mahmuda would not have expanded. If intelligence had worked, Lakurawa would not have merged into our border towns, establishing its own geography of bloody orgies.

    Our country needs human intelligence. Not just drones. Our country needs locals to trust it. Not fear it. Our country needs early warning systems. Community policing. Local vigilance.

    Securitisation must begin at the community level. Imams. Teachers. Farmers. Traders. They know what happens before Abuja does. They must be part of the solution. Our country must also fix its borders. The Nigeria-Niger border is not a line. It is a zone. A corridor of trade, migration and, now, terror. Lakurawa uses it. So do others. Our country needs joint patrols. Cross-border cooperations. Shared intelligence. A regional counter-terrorism strategy. West Africa must work together. Terror is regional. Our country’s responses must be the same.

    And yet, while we act, let it be remembered: force alone does not end terrorism. Ideas must be fought with better ideas.

    Why do young men join Mahmuda? Why do they flock to Lakurawa? Why is Ansaru establishing terrorists’ cells in Kogi State? It is because they seek power. Because they seek purpose. Because they feel abandoned.

    Our country must not abandon its citizens. Development is prevention. Schools. Jobs. Healthcare. Roads. These are weapons against terror. When citizens have hope, they resist terror. When they feel safe, they report threats. When they trust the state, they defend it.

    Securitisation must go hand in hand with human security. Not just military security. The North is bleeding. But it is not yet lost. Our country can still act. The north can still be saved. Our country must first call things by their names. Mahmuda is a terrorist group. Lakurawa is a terrorist group. Their ideologies are violent. Their actions are evil.

    Our country and its rulers must respond decisively. Today. Not tomorrow. This is not just a northern problem. It is a national one. What starts in Kwara spreads to Abuja. What burns in Niger may soon reach Lagos. The sum of the part is connected to the whole. Not greater.

    National security is not a slogan. It is a duty. Public safety is not a luxury. It is a right. Waever and Buzan teach us to listen to danger. To recognise when politics becomes war. To know when to shift gears. Our country must shift gears. It must treat Mahmuda and Lakurawa as the threats they are. Existential threats. Securitised threats.

    Our country cannot normalise terror. Our citizens cannot live with it. Citizens must end it.

    And to end it, we must first name it.

    That is the beginning.

  • Workers’ Day in Nigeria: A Day for the Unemployed

    Workers’ Day in Nigeria: A Day for the Unemployed

    By Abdul Mahmud

    Exactly a decade, three years, and a day to the eve of a Workers Day, I sat with my comrade and friend, Uche Onyeagocha. We spoke about the fate of Nigerian workers since the return to civil rule. In the middle of our discussion, Uche, lamenting their condition, said: “Mahmud, to talk about workers without talking about joblessness is dishonest. We cannot celebrate labour in a country that has no work. In our peculiar reality, the Workers Day, while highlighting the plight of millions without jobs or hope, should be a day for the unemployed”.

    Our country is once again celebrating another Workers Day, which once had something of meaning, something of pride, of unfurling of banners, raising of fists in the air, now feels like a joke. A cruel joke played on our workers. The screams of “Patria o Muerte, Venceremos”- homeland or death, we will overcome – still rent the air. The sound of brass bands still plays. But, the meaning that the day once lent to itself has since vanished. The stadia and parade grounds are still filled with banners and pious speeches. But the workers’ souls are empty. The parades continue. The workers’ rallies are now little more than symbolic pageantries characterised by dances that do little to alter the conditions of the working class. But the hope is gone.

    Forget the nonsense of Joy is Coming. There is no joy left. Only pain. Only hunger. Only memories of better times. Workers become ghosts. Present, yet invisible. Moving, yet stuck. Breathing, but barely living. What is a worker whose wages buy nothing? What is labour without dignity? In our country, a job does not always mean a living. Employment does not always mean escape from poverty. Work, for many, is simply another name for suffering.

    The officialdom calls May 1st Workers’ Day. The streets know it by another name. Go outside, look around. Who do you see? Those that the officialdom describes as workers. Teachers owed salaries for months. Nurses who buy their own gloves. Streets’ sweepers who live under bridges. Graduates selling Gala and Lacasera in traffic. There are jobs, the officialdom screams. But the jobs are fake. The statistics lie.

    The National Bureau of Statistics claims our unemployment rate is low. It says only 4.3% – a decrease from 5.0% in Q3 of 2023 – are unemployed. But how? On what planet? In what country? By what measure? If a man sells Zobo for one hour a week, he is counted as employed. If a woman fries akara by the roadside every two days, she too is employed. These statistics are based on the warped NBS methodology that considers anyone who works for at least an hour a week as employed. Wow! The numbers hide the truth, and conveniently conceal the mass unemployment that characterises the labour market. Here: the NBS methodology, illogical, defies commonsense. A fixation wrapped in statistical jargon, dressed as logic and facts. It is a trick. A magician’s act.

    Ours is a country of the jobless. Of the hopeless. Of the underpaid and the undervalued. The real unemployment rate? No one knows. But the evidence is everywhere. Young men on every street corner. Women roaming markets without stalls. Graduates writing CVs with no addresses to send them. A country bleeding potentials. Even those with jobs suffer. Salaries delayed. Pensions denied. Promotions frozen. Hospitals without medicine. Schools without teachers. Offices without electricity. Even Aso Rock, the symbol of presidential inaction, is even going solar. The Nigerian worker does not work to live. He works to survive. Sometimes, barely. The government promised to pay federal workers the minimum of ₦70,000. What is the value of ₦70,000 in today’s world? It cannot buy a bag of rice. It cannot pay rent in any city. It cannot fuel a car for a week. Yet that is what Tinubu calls the minimum wage. A shameful number. A national embarrassment. The cost of living rises every day. Prices double. Salaries do not move. Inflation has no respect. It eats without warning.

    Under President Bola Tinubu, things have worsened. The economy is in chaos. The fuel subsidy is gone. The naira floats like Sapele timberlogs on the River Ethiope. Prices of food and transport have exploded. The poor cannot breathe. The middle class is gone. The rich build new fences. Tinubu’s policies follow the gospel of the market. But the market is cruel. The market has no heart. It serves profit, not citizens. It listens to economists in foreign suits. It does not hear the cries in Ojuelegba or Mararaba. It has no time for the woman carrying basket of tomatoes on her head. Or the boy who walks five kilometres to school.

    It is neoliberalism that Tinubu calls it. Deregulate everything. Let the market decide. Cut subsidies. Cut support. Cut life. Build coastal roads that lead only to his pocket and the pocket of his crony, Gilbert Chagoury, not citizens. Build projects, not futures. That is the vision. That is the madness.

    But a country is not a magic show. It is not the magician’s bag. It is people. Human beings with dreams. With bones that ache. With children to feed. With hopes that die quietly in traffic. The workers suffer still. The youths japa. The factories close. The shops shrink. The streets fill themselves with despair. Our country is turning into a marketplace of sorrow.

    Where are the unions? Where is labour? Where is the rage? Where is the roar of yesterday? The Nigerian Labour Congress used to be a lion. Now it is an efulefu. A folded leaflet. A press release at noon. A handshake with politicians. Union leaders now sit with those who crush workers. They smile over tea. They tweet from air-conditioned offices. But the workers sweat. The workers cry. The workers are alone.

    The Workers’ Day has become theatre. A parade of uniforms and speeches. No soul. No fire. No fight. Only routine. Only performance. But the time for silence is over. Workers must speak. Loudly. Clearly. Angrily. They have nothing to lose but their chains. There is nothing to fear. Fear has already stolen everything. Fear has taken food. Taken shelter. Taken the future. What more can it take? How about the youths? Our country’s ticking time bombs. They are everywhere. On bikes. In kiosks. At betting shops. In embassies. Holding passports. Holding dreams. Many flee the country. Japa. That’s the dream now. To leave. To run. They are all running from a country that eats its own. The NYSC which holds the youths to wishful dreams has become a ritual with no reward. One year of service. Then what? Years of waiting. Of joblessness. Of rejections. Of regrets. The certificate means nothing. The future is blank. Our country breaks its youth. Then, it blames them for failing, for falling from non-existent grace to grass.

    A country that cannot provide jobs for its young is doomed. A country that watches its future rot has no future. The time has come to say it plainly: this country has failed its workers. It has failed its youth. It has failed itself.

    On Workers’ Day, there should be mourning. Mourning for the jobs lost. Mourning for the salaries stolen. Mourning for the factories closed. For the dreams buried. For the families torn by poverty. For the parents who cannot pay fees. For the children who go to bed hungry. There must be anger too. Not the kind that burns buses. But the kind that fuels action. That writes petitions. That mobilises. That organises. That doesn’t agonise. That demands. Citizens must ask: what is the value of labour in our country today? What does work mean in a country where working does not bring food? Where efforts do not bring dignity? Where contributions bring no recognition? There is wealth in Nigeria. There is oil. There is gold. There is gas. But the wealth is hoarded. The oil is stolen. The gold is smuggled. The gas is flared. The rich build castles. The poor build shacks. Inequality is the national flag.

    Let the Workers’ Day become a day of protest. Not a day of praise. Let it be a day of truth. A day of reflection. A day when workers stop pretending. When the unemployed stop clapping for suffering. When citizens start shouting. This country is at a crossroads. It cannot continue hurtling down the road of elite greed and mass misery. It must choose a new path. One built on justice. On fairness. On work that pays. On leadership that listens. Workers must be respected again. The unemployed must be seen. The youths must be given a chance. The unions must find their voice. And the government must remember: no country grows when its people are broken.

    Let us not say “Happy Workers’ Day.” There is no happiness here. Only struggle. There is pain. There is no respite. Workers’ Day must speak not only for the employed, but also for the unemployed, the jobless, the forgotten, and for those trapped in silence and idleness. They must be told: You are not invisible. Your struggle is known. Your worth is unquestionable. Until Workers’ Day is truly a celebration of labour, of jobs, of justice, let it remain what it is: a loud cry from the silent mouths of oppressed workers who have nothing but their silence and chains to lose. Today’s not Workers’ Day. It is the Day of the Abandoned. The Day of the Betrayed. The Day of the Unemployed.

  • How to Build a Capsule Wardrobe on a Budget – Minimalist yet Stylish 

    How to Build a Capsule Wardrobe on a Budget – Minimalist yet Stylish 

    By Chidinma Prisca Elebe 

    A capsule wardrobe is a minimalist collection of versatile clothing pieces that can be easily mixed and matched to create various outfits, promoting sustainability, practicality, and style while saving time and money. The growing popularity of capsule wardrobes is a response to the clutter caused by fast fashion, and building one is a personal journey that requires careful planning and reflection on individual style and lifestyle needs.

    Here’s how to create a budget-friendly capsule wardrobe that reflects your individual style.

    Step 1: Identify Your Personal Style and Lifestyle Requirements

    Before you start shopping, take some time to evaluate your personal style and daily activities. Ask yourself:

    – What colors and styles do I prefer?

    – What types of occasions do I need outfits for (work, casual outings, special events)?

    – What fabrics and fits make me feel comfortable and confident?

    – Can each piece be paired with multiple items in my wardrobe?

    – Is it easy to care for?

    Step 2: Declutter and Assess Your Current Wardrobe

    A budget-friendly capsule wardrobe starts with what you already have. Begin by sorting through your closet and categorizing your items into:

    – Keep: Pieces you love, wear often, and that fit well.

    – Donate or Sell: Items that no longer match your style or preferences.

    – Repurpose: Clothing that can be tailored or styled in different ways to fit your new wardrobe.

    Step 3: Determine Essential Wardrobe Items

    A well-constructed capsule wardrobe generally includes key, high-quality items that can be styled in multiple ways across different seasons. Here are some essentials to consider:

    a. Tops: This selection should feature a classic button-up shirt, a neutral blouse, a versatile sweater or cardigan, and basic white and black T-shirts.

    b. Bottoms: Include a pair of well-fitting jeans (either blue or black), tailored trousers, and a classic skirt (pencil or A-line).

    c. Outerwear: A fitted blazer, a lightweight jacket (denim or leather), and a warm, neutral coat for colder weather.

    d. Dresses: A little black dress and a casual day dress.

    e. Footwear: Comfortable sneakers, a versatile pair of flats, and a classic pair of heels or ankle boots.

    f. Accessories: A quality handbag in a neutral color, minimalist jewelry, and a belt to add definition to outfits.

    Step 4: Shop Wisely and Stick to a Budget

    Avoid the temptation to buy items you want but don’t need. To shop effectively, practice self-discipline and look for quality items that fit your budget while following your list of wardrobe essentials. Here are some cost-saving strategies:

    – Thrift Stores and Secondhand Shops: You can find many high-quality pieces at thrift stores, consignment shops, or online resale sites if you have a keen eye and a sense of style.

    – Seasonal Sales and Discounts: Take advantage of end-of-season sales, clearance sections, and discount retailers for great bargains.

    – Invest in Versatile Items: Opt for neutral colors and timeless designs that can be easily mixed and matched. Look for pieces that are durable and adaptable to various seasons and weather conditions, regardless of your location.

    Step 5: Mix, Match, and Style Creatively

    A capsule wardrobe doesn’t have to result in dull outfits. Play around with layering, accessorizing, and different styling methods to keep your looks lively and interesting. Here are some useful styling tips:

    – Layer shirts under sweaters or blazers for a refined look.

    – Combine casual and formal items to achieve a stylish balance.

    – Experiment with scarves, jewelry, and handbags to add a personal touch to your style.

    Step 6: Keep Your Wardrobe Updated Over Time

    Creating a capsule wardrobe on a budget is all about intentional shopping, versatility, and sustainability. By focusing on high-quality essentials and smart shopping strategies, you can build a minimalist yet stylish wardrobe that saves you money, reduces clutter, and enhances your personal style. With the right approach, you’ll never have to say, “I have nothing to wear” again!

    For reference on how to accessorize, mix and match outfits, check out some of our previous articles.

    https://pacesetterfrontier.com/post/1854/how-to-accessorize-your-outfi

    https://pacesetterfrontier.com/post/10862/how-to-mix-and-match-colours

     

  • Do You Believe In Spirits? 

    Do You Believe In Spirits? 

    There is something about today that is yet to settle in with you. Something that felt like someone invisible yet very near was watching you.

    The first time you had this feeling was at your boarding school at Ikot-Ekpene when a JSS 2 boy who stayed a bunk away from yours died. You’ve kept awake all night as rumours continued to spread of his visit to Akubue Paschal, a classmate of yours who had fallen sick shortly afterwards and who was said to have punished him some weeks before his death. But you’ve never punished anyone. Would he attack you for being there without saving him, for being a coward in the face of injustice? You felt the pain that followed the belt on the boy’s body and his eyes meeting yours calling for help, but you had looked away and went another direction just to avoid making enemies with Paschal.

    “You have no enemies, you say. Alas, the boast is poor. He who has mingled in the frail of duty must indeed have made foes. If you have none, little is the work you have done. You hit no traitor on the hip…you poured no cup from perjured lips, You’ve been a COWARD”

    This poem, whose author you have forgotten tormented you. After some days the feeling disappeared.

    The feeling came again in 2020 at Umusiome Hospital, towards the end of the days of COVID-19. You had thought the feeling came with the unfamiliar smell of the hospital…, ‘No, that’s not the word’, it was not an unfamiliar smell as you know this smell comes with some hospitals and that was not the first time you slept over or looked after someone in a hospital that smelled that way. Debunked, you began to think it was the incense burnt by the other patient, a short unpleasant man, with hands so short that it looked like they were pegged to his arms. This incense does not have the familiar scent of the one burnt by the Priest at SS. John & Paul (Iba Pope, Awada, Onitsha) during the Sunday benedictions or Holy Mass. When your brother was moved to another ward weeks later after your complaint, the feeling never went away, but you woke up one day feeling like it was never there, it’s gone.

    But these were years back. You’ve become an adult now, with malnourished strands of beards gathering at your lower jaw. You thought of going to Kachi’s place to spend the night. How much you’ve missed him, you told yourself – a ritual to emasculate your ego, but in actual sense, you were looking for a means to run away from your fears. It was not the weekend yet, it was still Wednesday and you would have Jurisprudence class the next day. The plan was out of the box.

    You live off campus, in a hostel called Woodland without the woods, just a stone’s throw from the school gate. The hostel was so quiet that you could hear the jiggling sounds of the onions being splashed fiercely by Obinna into the sizzling oils from his kitchen at the far end. You could have gone to knock at his place to start up a discussion but you dread talking to the fellow housemates as you are keen on the thing “Privacy”. His name you’ve learnt from other boys when they scream at him to pass the ball in their monkey-post football marches downstairs. He always looked at you in a certain way, the way that suggests that he wants to be your friend, or rather, that says “I know what you are”, so you avoided him more.

    “Let me go to night class”, you said out loud. At least it is the only place that registers little human interaction during the night. In the bathroom, baring your shy nakedness to the midnight blackness, you felt a hand run across the line of your spine. You jolted up almost immediately, the soap falling at a distance, you looked back in shock to see who it was, but saw no one. You ran your hands through your body, cold rashes hit the softness of your palm.

    “A mam na onye nche m no nso (I know that my redeemer liveth)”, your voice rang, a song you have learned to sing over the years to assure yourself of the presence of God. You quickly checked your phone, it reads 8:00 pm. It was time. Time to speak with Okenna, a friend who has been fighting cancer for the past few months. 8:00 pm has become a ritual you both have formed over the months. The past week, he has always been the first to call, and with each day, his voice became weaker, he laughed less and only listened to you talk and talk. Each call leaves you with tears, each call breaks you. You wondered why he had not called this evening and decided to clean up and call him.

    Opening the bathroom, there he sat, on your bed. “Jesus!”, you screamed, cleaning your eyes to clear off your hallucination but he did not vanish. You pinched yourself and you felt the pain. It’s no child’s play.

    “Onye?”, your voice asked, shaking, trembling, and panting audibly. He turned, smiled at you and vanished.

    Hours later, you woke up at the Health Center at Umueze, a pack of injections stuffed into your veins, with Obinna your neighbor seated beside you.

    “I know you saw something, I heard you ask ‘Onye’ before the loud scr..ea..m” He stuttered and stopped as if he realized it was not the best time. “You have got some missed calls from different people, but the name Kachi recurs and I have told…”

    “Help me dial Kachi?”, You said, cutting him short.

    The number at the other end rang for a while and then a familiar voice came up “Nnam ndo, I guess you’ve heard….”

    “Tell me nothing has happened to Okenna”

    “He passed…”

    You went quiet for some minutes before letting out a loud shout and falling from the bed, you opened your eyes, it was your room at Ikoyi, Lagos. It was 2025 and you are late to CDS thumb printing. Just a dream.

  • Trump’s America or China’s Playground? Nigeria’s Bitter Economic Choice

    Trump’s America or China’s Playground? Nigeria’s Bitter Economic Choice

    By Ikenna Igwe

    As markets reel from Donald Trump’s return to the White House, Nigeria—Africa’s largest economy—finds itself caught in a geopolitical vise grip that threatens to reshape its economic future. The administration’s aggressive “America First” policies are already sending shockwaves through Nigeria’s oil-dependent economy, forcing an urgent rethinking of decades-old economic partnerships.

    OIL AMBITIONS CRASH AGAINST TARIFF REALITY

    The escalating global tariff war has undermined Nigeria’s oil revenue targets for 2025. With benchmark projections of $65 per barrel and production estimates of 2.2 million barrels daily now appearing wildly optimistic, government officials are scrambling to patch budgetary holes.

    “What we’re witnessing is economic warfare by other means,” explains Dr. Oluwaseun Adeyemi, Chief Economist at Lagos Financial Institute. “Trump’s tariff confrontations are strangling global growth prospects, with oil-dependent economies like Nigeria feeling the squeeze first.”

    The Nigerian Petroleum Development Company reports that exports to the United States have plummeted by 15% since January—a stark reversal for what was once a cornerstone trading relationship.

    THE DEATH OF PREFERENTIAL TREATMENT

    Beyond petroleum, Nigeria’s broader trade relationship with America stands at a precipice. The African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA), which provides duty-free market access for qualifying African countries, faces uncertain renewal in 2026.

    “The writing is on the wall,” warns Nkechi Obi, President of the Nigerian Exporters Association. “American markets are closing, not opening, and Nigerian businesses must adapt or perish.”

    Administration officials have hinted at a “complete overhaul” of U.S.-Africa trade relations, with preferential agreements potentially scrapped in favor of bilateral deals that more explicitly serve American interests.

    THE CHINA QUESTION

    Trump’s combative stance toward China presents Nigeria with a strategic dilemma. As America retreats from certain economic engagements, Beijing continues its infrastructure-for-resources approach across Africa.

    “Nigeria is being forced to choose sides in a contest we never asked to join,” notes Professor Ibrahim Musa of the University of Abuja. “Trump views African nations primarily through the lens of competition with China, not as partners with inherent value.”

    The revamped Prosper Africa initiative signals America’s determination to counter Chinese influence, potentially creating investment opportunities—but with strings attached that many Nigerian officials find problematic.

    DIASPORA DOLLARS AT RISK

    The Nigerian diaspora in America contributes over $20 billion annually in remittances—a crucial economic lifeline now threatened by stricter immigration policies. Community leaders report growing anxiety about visa restrictions and work permit renewals.

    “We’re seeing contingency planning on an unprecedented scale,” reveals Chioma Nwosu of the Nigerian-American Business Coalition. “These aren’t just statistics—they’re families and communities whose economic security hangs in the balance.”

    As Nigeria navigates these treacherous economic waters, one question looms larger than all others: Will African nations continue accepting the scraps from America’s economic table, or is it finally time to overturn it entirely and build our own?

  • Onochie Jon-Igwesi Sworn-in as Secretary of Local Government

    Onochie Jon-Igwesi Sworn-in as Secretary of Local Government

    Prince Onochie Jon-Igwesi has been appointed the Secretary of Local Government, Nkanu West Local Government Area, Enugu State.

    The appointment which took immediate effect followed his taking of oath of office and swearing-in on Monday, November 11, 2024 at the council headquarters in Agbani, Nkanu West Local Government Area of Enugu State.

    Performing the swearing-in, the Executive Chairman of Nkanu West LGA, Chief John Ogbodo, noted that with the appointment of Jon-Igwesi, the council was set to run effectively.

    “All these while, we didn’t have a Secretary, but today we thank God, we thank His Excellency our governor for this opportunity, and now our council can run effectively.

    “Once you have the secretary to the local government after all other arms are already inaugurated, it means the government is already running and with this team, we can now deliver, and we can be rest assured that executives can now function”.

    Accepting the appointment, Onochie Jon-Igwesi also expressed optimism that with the mandate the local government administration has, the team will deliver and make the council one that her citizens will be proud to identify with.

    “First, I wish to thank God Almighty who made today a reality because God is the one who rules over the affairs of men and I give Him all the glory.

    “I thank the Executive Governor of Enugu State, His Excellency, Dr. Peter Mbah, the visionary man who has plans that their implementation has continued to positively shock everybody.

    “I also thank the Executive Chairman, the man who is driving the government plans at the local government level. Charity begins at home, so, if he can drive them effectively at the local government level, then we are very sure His Excellency’s plans will continue to be noticed at the state level.

    “I believe that with the mandate that we have, we will deliver and make Nkanu West Local Government one that we will be impressed about”.

    Recalling that donkey years ago, his grandfather served meritoriously as council chairman, Jon-Igwesi expressed confidence to keep the flag flying.

    Onochie Jon-Igwesi has a diverse portfolio spanning public service, media entrepreneurship, and community engagement. In 2020, he embarked on media entrepreneurship founding Pacesetter Frontier Magazine.

    He holds degrees in Microbiology and Law; certificates in Public Leadership and Policy; International Criminal Law, Journalism, Business Consultancy and Mediation. He is a school administrator, Rotary International member, and Paul Harris Fellow, driving discussions on peace, governance, and development through the Frontier Discourse Annual Public Lecture Series and Awards, an initiative of his Magazine.

  • Surging clampdown on Journalists is alien to democracy – Jon-Igwesi

    Surging clampdown on Journalists is alien to democracy – Jon-Igwesi

    Following the continued arrests and harassment of investigative journalists in Nigeria, the Chairman of Pacesetter Frontier Magazine, Onochie Jon-Igwesi has appealed to the wielders of political power to be circumspect and more tolerant of the activities of journalists.

    Jon-Igwesi who spoke on Afia TV’s ‘News Today’ expressed concerns about press freedom and freedom of speech in the country, noting that the surging clampdown on journalists was alien to the ideals of democracy. 

    Tracing the litany of journalists that had been hounded in Nigeria from Nnamdi Azikiwe, Dele Giwa, Agba Jalingo, Daniel Ojukwu, to Fisayo Soyombo, David Hundeyin, Jones Abiri and more recently anonymous X whistleblower, PIDOMNigeria and Adejuwon Soyinka, Jon-Igwesi explained that even “the West hasn’t been excluded because as recently as in 2020, journalists who covered the protests that broke out when George Floyd was murdered in the US were also arrested”. 

    In his words: “Press and Media Laws have taught that the concept of freedom of speech can be likened to a rose with thorns, indicating that even though you’re free to express yourself, there’s also this necessity that you do it within the confines of laid down laws. 

    “So, what a democratic institution ought to do would be to define those laid down laws and ensure that those laws are not made with anyone in mind to avoid seeming like you’re out for vendetta and not to have a sane society. 

    “When you look at these journalists, they are not speaking for themselves. They are exposing an ill, something they assume is true from their investigations. I feel that the proper thing should be for authorities to investigate those findings and when true, restore sanity in the system, not clamping down on journalists for even daring to investigate. It would look like the system is encouraging corruption”.

    Informing that the incarceration of journalists will not kill a story due to the global network and affiliations of journalists, the Media Executive suggested that investigative journalists may also consider whether certain stories should be leaked and escalated on social media or simply directed to the authorities concerned to avoid the ‘trap’ of accusations of endangerment of the nation’s sovereignty.

    “There should be some sort of code that should guide the profession. However, we should actually find out if these laws have been defaulted before clamping down on journalists. 

    “Journalists should also be guided by the fact that we’re all interested in fixing the nation, having a nation that works and not for the nation to burn. So, if there are ways that could be employed beyond leaking things on social media, that’s good and fine.

    “Where journalists tell lies, they should be made to face the full weight of the law, but where you’re hounding them for simply telling the truth, it is not good for any government and it is certainly not good for Nigeria”, he said. 

  • Food Insecurity, Food Inflation and a Dwindling Manufacturing Sector in Nigeria: A National Threat to Sustainable Development

    Food Insecurity, Food Inflation and a Dwindling Manufacturing Sector in Nigeria: A National Threat to Sustainable Development

    By Ikenna Igwe

    The issue of food inflation and food insecurity have continued making the news headline in today’s Nigeria. To be fair, the issue of food insecurity is not something that is alien to Nigerians but with the current administration of President Tinubu, things seem to be going south.

    According to the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) reports, food inflation rates stand at 33.93% on a year on year basis, that is 10.18% higher compared to the rate recorded one year prior. According to the bureau, the rise of food inflation on a year on year basis was caused by an increase in the price of common household food items like beans and cereals, milk, eggs, yam and other tubers. The headline inflation rates increased in January 2024 when compared to the same ones in the preceding year.

    Furthermore the report shows that on a month on month basis, the inflation rate in January 2024 was 2.64% which was 0.35 higher than the rate recorded in December of 2023 (2.29%). Still on the report, the food inflation rate in January 2024 quickened to 35.41% on a year on year basis, which was 11.10% higher compared to the rate recorded in January 2023 (24.32%).

    This whole state of affairs became more complex after the announcements of the removal of fuel subsidy. These brought about an upward trend in the price of basic commodities as well as other products which have played a major role in weakening the naira and in the reduction of the purchasing power of many citizens.

    Forex scarcity orchestrated by exponential demand for Dollar by Nigerians, as well as unremitted Forex backlog by the Central Bank of Nigeria have further mounted pressure on the naira.

    As the inflation rate clocked a 28 year high when it rose to 29.90% in January, so many sectors of the economy were deeply affected and one of those sectors was the manufacturing industry.

    The Manufacturing Association of Nigeria (MAN) has released a disturbing trend within the industry revealing that about 765 manufacturing companies have shut down while 335 experienced distress in 2023. This development is attributed to various economic difficulties including exchange rate volatility, rising inflation and a general worsening of the investment climate. These advertises have taken a toll on the manufacturing industries, significantly impacting its performance and sustainability. 

    Downturn in Capital Utilization

    The manufacturing industry, as reported by MAN stated on their report: “Capital utilization in the sector have declined to 56%, interest rate is effectively above 30%, foreign exchange to import raw material has dried up and production machinery inventory of unsold finished products have increased to N350 billion and the real growth has dropped to 2.4%. Expatriates in Nigeria currently pay more than $2,000 for CERPAC. The sector cannot afford another disincentive to increased investment and portfolio expansion”.

    A country that has a shrinking manufacturing industry, Forex scarcity to import, rising inflation, growing population and a worsening food crisis and poverty, is. Country urgent need of a reform. 

    Bold Step in the Right Direction

    Senator Abubakar Kyari, the Minister of Agriculture and Food Security on the 11th March, 2024 released a statement in which he said that the Federal Government had secured a €995 million deal between the Brazilian government and the German Deutsch bank group to finance a green imperative program in Nigeria.

    The program aims to create Mechanization Hubs in each of the 774 local government areas in Nigeria as part of its implementation plan. This comes as the administration of President Tinubu remains committed to ensuring food sufficiency and protecting local industry for sustainable economic growth. Part of the memorandum of understanding between the Federal Government and the John Deer group, a subsidiary of Tata Equipment clearly states: “The manufacturers have signed to deliver 10,000 units of tractors and implement in tranches of 2,000 units per annum for the next five years”.

    This is a welcomed development given the fact that the Nigerian agricultural sector recorded just a miniature 0.50% of the total foreign capital import of 2023. Amidst soaring food inflation and complaints of food shortage being experienced across the country, the need to quadruple investment and efforts as regards to agricultural output can’t be overemphasized.

    As we are preparing for the second quarter of the year, we are optimistic that more investments, programs, interventions and empowerments will be pushed into the agricultural sector and the manufacturing sector in order to have a sustainable economy. 

  • But Who Said Our Leaders Are Corrupt?

    But Who Said Our Leaders Are Corrupt?

    By Dr. Samson Abanni 

    “Nigerians are good people, it’s our leaders that are bad”. 

    “Nigerians are hardworking and conscientious, but our leaders are heartless”. 

    “Nigeria would not be associated with corruption if not for our leaders”.

    Statements like these give the impression that corruption is a disease that afflicts only the top even though we know many of these leaders were like ordinary Nigerians before leadership came calling. We have to wake up from this self-deception and face reality. Nigerians are corrupt, simple. Except you have not lived in Nigeria, this leadership/followership dichotomy when discussing the corrupt ruination of the country is a comfortable lie, but one may think it holds water if he hasn’t held a position of leadership. When you draw from a population many times and consistently get the same results, it simply means that the characteristics found in the sample is coming from the population.

    We can choose to believe a lie and keep running in cycles. We have to wake up to the reality that the majority who may not have stolen haven’t done so because the opportunity hasn’t come – and when they haven’t done so, they give their full backing to those who do, as long as they are from their part, at least by not being as mad at their own thieves, as they are at the thieves of others. 

    I have held a position of public trust and I know those who come to “teach” you how to steal – the same people who lose the most to the plundering of the system. I know how one is required to pay bribe just to be able to work, to do good, to carry out projects to benefit people. They will tell you “I don’t care if the hospital you are building will save a million lives, if I don’t get my cut, you are not building anything “. Nigerians have a way of thinking or acting the thought that, “Everyone can starve as long as I and mine have more than enough”. That’s the root of our woes. It is not hunger that breeds our corruption, we keep making the case to justify the evil, that they keep us poor so they can bribe us during elections.  Rubbish! It’s either we are ignorant of what actually happens or we don’t take the time to find out. Some say or believe that it is the billions of naira taken by the MDA head that ruins us and not the petty-corruption by the low level clerk. Don’t forget there are thousands of such clerks chipping at the nation’s core, daily. N50,000 taken by 50,000 people monthly is not small. 

    The poor harm themselves more by their little compromises. You can finally build your house from your cut, but you can’t buy an army or own your roads or hospital.  You will send your child to Canada and lose him there because there will be no country to return to, you sold a part of it to train your son. We may all have our reasons for bending the rules, but we cannot afterwards, retain the moral justification to pass on the blame to higher ups. The Minister who accepted a hundred million naira bribe is not guiltier than the messenger who accepted a ten thousand naira bribe to leak confidential information. Each is only stealing according to his capacity. Each was needed for the loop of corruption to be complete. It’s easy to think that your small corruption is not what is holding Nigeria back, but it’s an important part. My opinion is that it’s the smaller corruption that’s more dangerous because if a community stands against an oil company robbing them of billions, it’s the youth leader who will accept one million naira to talk his people out of a protest that is most destructive to his people.

    We cannot afford to continue this lie even if we refuse to do anything about it. Nigerians are corrupt and sometimes I even feel it comes from somewhere deep down. Maybe it’s the effect of forever living in lack but there are other poor countries lacking such wide-spread corruption.  In therapy, healing cannot begin without acceptance. People who pass blame rarely know good success.

    Abanni is a Medical Doctor and Member of the Board of Editors of Pacesetter Frontier Magazine. 

  • Are Our Universities Learning Anything?

    Are Our Universities Learning Anything?

    By Dr. Samson Abanni

    If there’s something we all agree about nature, it is this fact – Nature is unkind to those who cannot adapt and makes no allowance for them.

    If an institution or system is crushed by change, nature dictates that it be allowed to die.

    The best help that our educational institutions need now is help to adapt to a changing environment . The cost of running the universities is going up and they need more IGR. I don’t know if the head of our tertiary institutions look at their numbers.

    Postgraduate admissions are not rising and in some cases, they are dropping. The reasons are obvious. At the same time, we have many Nigerians enrolling into postgraduate programs online with foreign universities because our schools have failed to adapt. In a difficult economy, how many people can come to the class and spend two years for a masters. How will they eat if they don’t work? The administrators need to offer incentives to their staff to innovate.

    ONE SOLUTION: ONLINE PROGRAMS

    One opportunity is online program. We need to look at courses that can be done online, and there are many, and put up a robust, competitive online program with effective hands to make sure the technology is at par. If 2% of Nigerians want a postgraduate degree all the current capacity of our public universities will struggle to cope because that will be about 5 million people, that is like the population of Enugu state.

    BENEFITS OF ONLINE LEARNING AND SUCCESS STORIES

    Online programs are cheaper for the university and convenient for the students, the savings can also be passed on to the students making it cost-effective.

    University of Port Harcourt just started some of such programs in their school of public health, ABU, Zaria is already a national leader in Online education.

    Other universities have to wake up from their sleep. The occupiers of the ivory towers have to realise that the world around them is changing, the student is now king, not the Lecturer.

    So, you must make your processes efficient and competitive to attract more “clients” or you will go bankrupt, for gradually FG is easing itself out of her traditional responsibilities. Craft attractive, modern programs. Do surveys in local industries and design programs to fill knowledge gaps. Give opportunities for fast-track masters of one year, six months or one year, let students pay fees based on the number of courses, set up digital payment system that accepts pay-small-small, tailor programs to meet current job market needs. A degree is an investment, design them to pay a huge ROI and market them well.

    FINANCIAL INDEPENDENCE

    As we cry to the government to fund education better, we also have to find creative ways of making universities financially independent. Set up consultancy groups based on industry and lobby industry and government to patronise you.

    LEVERAGING UNIVERSITY RESOURCES

    Set up a university endowment to fund startups where you can own equity. Lobby multinationals to setup research centres which can earn the university money through use of scientific equipment by the public.

    ENTREPRENEURIAL VENTURES

    Set up businesses with half of the staff being students who will be there on industrial training and thus not be paid, making it more profitable. Bank of Industry can be lobbied to fund these businesses.

    The students health insurance should be run by university owned HEALTH INSURANCE company. The most popular bottled water in Enugu should be UNN water and so on.

    BRIDGING EDUCATION AND BUSINESS

    Universities need to get creative. Unizik should have a program that enables businessmen in Onitsha to earn degrees without having to leave their shops, except for a few days in a month.

    EMPHASIZE THE BUSINESS ASPECT OF UNIVERSITY LEADERSHIP

    If the universities or at least their administrators, do not see the business part of education, our professors would remain beggarly dependent on the govt.
    All administrators would benefit from MBAs irrespective of their areas of specialization. Being a Professor alone does not guarantee that you will lead well in the current complex, regulatory and business environment. In this world of today, the hallmark of academics is intellectual humility. Our academics need this more now.

    Abanni is a Medical Doctor and Member of the Board of Editors of Pacesetter Frontier Magazine.