TheNewsGuru

Tag: Azu Ishiekwene

  • A tribute to Uncle Sam at 90 – By Azu Ishiekwene

    A tribute to Uncle Sam at 90 – By Azu Ishiekwene

    I encountered the relic of his presence long before I met Sam Amuka, known as Uncle Sam. Inside a room in the far corner of the old Kudeti PUNCH building, predominantly constructed of plywood and steel frames, there was a wooden armchair that had been a fixture in Uncle Sam’s office when he served as managing editor.

    When I joined PUNCH as a staff writer eight years after his departure in 1981, this piece of furniture was in my first office, sitting like a totem in a shrine, while stories about Uncle Sam floated in whispers.

    The stories could not be told freely in PUNCH at the time because of the bitter dispute between Uncle Sam and his friend and Publisher, Olu Aboderin, which would later end in an out-of-court settlement.

    So, if one were looking for stories about Uncle Sam’s early professional life, particularly his works, the Daily Times would have been a good place to find them.

    In the 1990s, however, the Times started having its own problems, leading to frequent changes at the top, and a dramatic sale that imperilled not only access to the records of the newspaper’s leading lights like Uncle Sam, but even the history of the newspaper which, in its heyday, was Nigeria’s most prosperous, authoritative and vibrant brand.

    From ‘Offbeat Sam’ to ‘Sad Sam’

    Uncle Sam made his name at the Daily Times, but his journalism career did not start there. According to Ben Lawrence, in an article entitled “An artiste and a builder,” published in Voices from Within, a collection of articles edited by Lanre Idowu to mark Uncle Sam’s 70th birthday, he made his first call at the Sunday Express, where John Pepper Clark was features editor.

    J.P. Clark nurtured him, but it was at the Times that his talent blossomed. He started with “Offbeat Sam,” which, as the name suggested, was an unconventional, straight-from-the-heart weekly column that stripped many social and political issues of their cloak of hypocrisy.

    Like many elites in the 90s who criticised gossip magazines as street rags but never missed reading them behind closed doors, “Offbeat Sam” made politicians and government officials uncomfortable. But it was a foretaste of what was to come.

    When Uncle Sam moved from the Sunday Express to become editor of Spearmagazine (he later edited the Sunday Times), a Daily Times publication set up to rival Drum of South Africa, he started the “Sad Sam” column. His entry expanded a vibrant and robust field of punditry that included the likes of Hadj Alade Odunewu, Peter Enahoro (Peter Pan), Clarkson Majomi, Gbolabo Ogunsanwo, Haroun Adamu, and Uche Chukwumerije, amongst others.

    Writing for a living

    “Sad Sam” was not interested in the news. He exploited the foibles and follies of politicians and those in authority to entertain, provoke emotions, or instigate deeper thinking about who we are.

    An article by Gbemiga Ogunleye, “The columnist’s power,” quoting Sad Sam in the Sunday PUNCH of August 12, 1973, said, “I (Sad Sam) write for the same reason that a houseboy cleans the house or a secretary-typist takes shorthand and types or a taxi driver rides the street, touting for fares…or an executive in business or government goes to the office or a professional burglar steals. For a living, that’s all. It’s none of my business to correct the ills or save this country!”

    I’m a bit like Sad Sam these days, chastened by the years and weary of making any fuss about changing the world by writing. However, one area in which I could never be like Uncle Sam is his management style.

    Be ‘a little mad’

    In an industry where he once admitted in a sticker on the wall of the PUNCH newsroom, “You don’t have to be mad to work here, but a little madness helps,” how did he manage a steely coolness in his small body frame amidst the turmoil of the newsroom, never mind the many tempests of a life forged in the vicissitudes of the streets of Oguanja in Sapele?

    Was his stoicism partly shaped in his formative years, including his time as a left-winger for the Government College, Ughelli football team and his education at the Nigerian College of Arts, Science and Technology, Enugu, where he studied architecture?

    As Odunewu wrote, the intensity of the newsroom creates more of the likes of Lord Beaverbrook, the publisher of the Daily Express or MKO Abiola of the Concord – or even Sam Nda-Isaiah of LEADERSHIP – a breathless and restless stock in whose corner I find myself, than the likes of Uncle Sam who would rather go to the office with a peace offering than drag the office to their presence by the scruff of the neck.

    An eye for talent

    Eric Teniola, who worked with Uncle Sam in PUNCH between 1977 and 1981, as Oyo State Editor, Constituent Assembly Editor and Lagos City Editor, told me that one of Uncle Sam’s greatest gifts is his capacity to always look on the bright side, the opposite of the essence of a Sad Sam.

    “He knew how to spot a talent and to bring out the best in the people who worked with him,” Teniola said. “From Muyiwa Adetiba to Toye Akiode and Frank Aigbogun, he identified some of the most remarkable talents in the newsroom and created the environment that inspired them to work. He was always informal, unpretentious and spontaneous, looking for a reporter to give a big break or a miserable bloke to give a free lunch.”

    Ademola Osinubi, former MD/Editor-in-Chief of PUNCH, who started as a reporter in 1976, and later became the chief reporter under Uncle Sam, said, “With Uncle Sam, you couldn’t be sure your script would pass the test until it’s been published. He was an editor’s editor.”

    Gene vs. lifestyle

    As for his longevity, that is a different story. It’s probably part hereditary. Uncle Sam’s mother died at 109. Apart from his older brother, Oritsedere, who passed in 2002, the other three from the same mother are still alive, and the youngest is a woman, Amanaghan, 76. Uncle Sam’s daughter, Omasan Dudu, told me he is a good swimmer and, until recently, maintained a personal yoga coach.

    “He still goes to the office every Monday and takes his exercises seriously,” she said. “I remember he fought against the attempt to convert the open space in his community in Lagos, Anthony Village, where he exercised. But most of all, his longevity is down to his generosity of spirit and God’s grace. That’s how he has managed multiple ulcer surgeries and other big challenges in life. It’s grace.”

    In my obsession to live a long, healthy life, only God knows how many things I have given up. I can’t remember when I last used a sweetener or milk, even gluten-free ones, for my tea or pap. Last year, when I visited him, Uncle Sam had his tea with plenty of honey and topped his tea with several spoonsful of sachet Cowbell milk. Packets of Kemp’s crackers biscuits littered the cane table.

    Daddy DJ!

    To create the perfect ambience for his refreshment, he turned on music stored on a flash drive. “You don’t know I’m called Daddy DJ?” he joked in response to my puzzled look. That was new to me from a man I consider Nigeria’s answer to Jimmy Breslin.

    In a tribute to Breslin after his death, The Guardian wrote that he was the champion of the trials and troubles of the ordinary people in New York. “He filled his columns with gangsters and thieves, whom he knew first-hand from drinking in the same bars. He told stories that smacked of blarney behind their anger.”

    That could have been Sad Sam, a man punctual as the clock, passionate about press freedom and sustained by righteous rage.

    Live and let live

    Three years ago, he had a fracture. He had undergone a back surgery and was on his way to an appointment for an acupuncture procedure. Instead of walking over a plank in front of the place, he tried to jump over the gutter and fractured his leg. I asked the editor of Vanguard, Eze Anaba, how the Vanguard publisher, who was then 87 years old, had survived the fall.

    “He believes that life has a NAFDAC number,” Anaba said. “Nothing can take you out if your number has not expired.”

    I asked Osinubi how he would describe this man he has known for 49 years. “He lives life on his terms,” he said. “Live and let live.”

    Here’s to another 20, Uncle Sam!

     

    Ishiekwene, Editor-In-Chief of LEADERSHIP, is the author of the new book Writing for Media and Monetising It.

  • Understanding the Flight Announcer – By Azu Ishiekwene

    Understanding the Flight Announcer – By Azu Ishiekwene

    Boarding announcements were not an issue when I used to commute in Lagos by danfo, the ubiquitous yellow buses, or molue, the mass-transit lorries, which were improvised for public transportation.

    The conductors often had a melodious and entertaining way of calling passengers that was enjoyable to hear. They called out in a drawl, accompanying each announcement with a warning for passengers to board with their change in hand or risk a “forced marriage,” which meant giving a fixed sum, usually a bank note, to two or more passengers to share at disembarkation.

    Flying is a luxury – or should be – with no room for bus conductors and their outrageous threats of forced passenger marriages. But vehicle conductors across the country might be surprised to know that, however lowly their jobs, there are several areas where they do far better than their cousins at airports across the country, who, for want of a better description, carry the elegant titles of flight announcers, when quite frankly, they perform the job of conductors.

    A conductor’s life

    There is no intention to deride or demean, please. Conductors, whether at the motor park, opera, or the airport, provide the vital link that helps us understand and enjoy the moment, as we make a rite of passage.

    But that vital function is threatened at many airports nationwide, even among crew announcers onboard several flights. I could have missed a recent flight from Asaba to Abuja because I wasn’t sure what the announcer said: “This is a broaden hannouncement on Flight PA7861 from Hum, Hum, Hum, to Ham, Ham, Ham…all persongers on this flight should phulease proceed to the gate to broad…a phust departure call phulease…”

    I didn’t understand. The babble was neither British, American, nor trans-Atlantic. It was not even Ingili-Igbo (a variety of standard British English mixed with Igbo phonemes) as Chief Zebruddaya Okorigwe-Nwogbo alias 4.30 might have called it in the New Masquerade. It was indecipherable. But I noticed some passengers rushing to line up or scampering in different directions. I stayed put, waiting for a second, hopefully clearer announcement. It was the same thing. 

    Accra bound?

    I looked at my colleague with whom I was travelling and asked, “Did you hear what the announcer said?” “I think she said something like it’s a flight to Accra,” he responded. “No way,” I replied. “You mean that flights now depart from the Asaba Airport to Accra? And see the number of passengers lining up.”

    Time was ticking. We hurried to the line, which is often the typical response when there’s no airline staff in sight, where a passenger smiled a knowing smile and told us it was a flight to Abuja, not Accra. At that time, something that sounded like the final boarding announcement had been made.

    I had experienced a similar thing on my outbound trip from Abuja, where the flight announcer seemed more concerned about how her fake imitation of an Oyinbo accent than the clarity of what she was saying. I got up twice to ask at the desk. 

    Suupri…suupri…suupri

    The second time, the announcer who faked an Oyinbo accent told me in plain, audible language that my flight had not been announced. “Is it impossible to announce as you have just told me, Ma?” I asked. She smiled and adjusted the PAS: “This is a boreding announcement on Flight PA74862 from suupri, suupri, suupri, to ham, ham, ham…all persongers on this flight should phulease proceed to the boreding gate…a phust departure call phulease…”

    I gave up. 

    Sometimes, the noise in the departure lounge can make things worse. At other times, the lack of coordination and/or the poor sound quality of the PAS can also compound the problem. There’s hardly such a thing as a level key. The volume is too high, too low or a garbled screeching static sound. As for the tone of voice, that’s something else altogether. 

    What was that, pilot?

    It happens onboard, too. For aerophobics like me, a pilot’s calming voice before departure, midflight, or shortly before landing has a huge calming effect. Often, however, you’ll have to strain to hear. There’s such a deafening noise in the inflight PAS that it’s difficult to decipher what even the pilot says, whether it will be fair weather, or you should brace up for a bumpy ride. On this last trip to Asaba, it wasn’t very different, but it was the attendant who had me cracking a rib. 

    From her appearance, she seems a full-blooded Nigerian woman, likely from the Southeast. As we neared landing, she unleashed a torrent of fake accents. She concluded by welcoming passengers to “Asaaabhaaa,” pronounced like a JJC would say Asaba, with enough drawl of the “Icheku” variety (the Nigerian TV drama series based on the foibles of the colonial courtroom) to spice the miserly inflight passengers’ lunchbox. Where did she acquire that accent from?

    Oyinbo blues

    I might be a latecomer to this flourishing business of phonemical jiggery pokery. Farooq Kperogi flagged it in an article two years ago, entitled “Fake Accents on Nigerian Airplanes and Airports,” in which he narrated how an Oyinbo man approached a passenger to interpret what the flight announcer said. It was his second article on the subject in seven years. 

    Although recent aviation concerns have focused more on air traffic control staffing shortages, technology and flight delays, it would be interesting to see statistics on how indecipherable announcements may have contributed to passenger misery, including perhaps, missed flights.

    It wouldn’t be a big issue if the humour of Oyinbo wannabes were all there was to it. It would, in fact, be a good source of entertainment when flights are delayed, as they frequently are. But passengers who bank on in-flight announcers who use them to practice phonology risk missing their flights.

    Lessons from the motor park

    In many parts of the world, airports are enhancing the quality of announcements. Tools like PAXGuide, for instance, can monitor every announcement, including who made it and when. Instead of terminal-wide announcements, announcements can be targeted and localised to specific gates, while automation through display boards and technological upgrades can also help to improve the passenger’s experience.

    There’s also something that airports, with a bit of humility, can learn from the motor parks. I’m serious about this. The conductors in the motor parks hardly ever pretend to be someone they’re not or borrow a language they’re uncomfortable with. Apart from the points suggested, is it also possible for the Federal Airports Authority of Nigeria (FAAN) to authorise using pidgin English (perhaps the most widely spoken language across the country), as the second language for flight announcers at least for domestic routes? 

    It would take a truly wayward flight announcer to nasalise pidgin English and not sound ridiculous in his or her own ears.

     

    Ishiekwene is Editor-in-Chief of LEADERSHIP and author of the book, Writing for Media and Monetising It.

  • Inside the Oval Office, Trump’s new Lair – By Azu Ishiekwene

    Inside the Oval Office, Trump’s new Lair – By Azu Ishiekwene

    The world has never been short of demagogues and fools, but the remedies have often matched the supply. In 1990, during President Nelson Mandela’s thank-you tour of the world, he was asked at the City College of New York, Harlem, NY., why he remained friends with Muammar Gaddafi, Yasser Arafat, and Fidel Castro.

    He replied that he didn’t think it was the business of any country to choose South Africa’s friends. These people stood by South Africa in its hour of need; why should he betray them now? His interlocutor turned tail, and Mandela received a standing ovation.

    British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher preached “constructive engagement” to dismantle apartheid. In response to her duplicity in 2004, the President of Equatorial Guinea, Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo, pointed out to her that “constructive engagement” favoured England, particularly the Prime Minister, whose son, Mark, was involved in gunrunning and coup plots on the continent. Thatcher had no response.

    Castro v. Bush

    Castro accused President George Bush of a “pirate mentality.” And he wasn’t being flippant. One of Africa’s worst kleptocrats, Joseph Desire Mobutu, worth $5 billion in the 1980s, visited President Bush in 1989. 

    Despite Mobutu’s appalling record, Martin Meredith in The Fate of Africa, quoted Bush as saying on the South Lawn of the White House, “Zaire is among America’s oldest friends, and its president – President Mobutu – one of our most valued friends. We are proud and very, very pleased to have him with us today.”

    Like Castro, President Olusegun Obasanjo is also reputed not to suffer fools gladly. Stephen Sackur, anchor of the BBC programme HARDtalk, might recall when, in response to what Obasanjo perceived as a rude question, the former Nigerian president asked Sackur if he could pose that question to his prime minister.

    In the lion’s den

    There is a long list of leaders who confronted bullies without flinching. This quality, which is in demand more than ever before, is falling short, as shown by recent high-profile encounters in the White House since President Donald Trump’s second term. The White House, especially the Oval Office, has become for high-profile visitors what the lion’s den is to straying goats. 

    After Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s antagonistic exchange with Trump, South African President Cyril Ramaphosa is the latest target. Almost from the moment the first live footage of the visit began airing, it was clear that Trump wanted only one thing. 

    He wasn’t interested in resetting trade talks or bilateral issues. He wasn’t interested in repairing ties between South Africa and the US or hearing firsthand the other view about the so-called genocide against white farmers. He wasn’t interested in conciliation. He was interested in only one thing: having Ramaphosa for lunch. And he did, which was painful and difficult to watch.

    ‘How did you get my number?’

    From Trump’s question about “how did you get my number?”, gestures that suggested he valued the presence of the golfers in Ramaphosa’s entourage – Ernie Els and Retief Goosen – more than the president, to dumping piles of fake documents on the South African president and converting the Oval Office into a cinema while Ramaphosa was still speaking, Trump displayed utter contempt and disregard for his visitors.

    The encounter made Zelenskyy’s visit appear like a lovefest. Some have argued that it reflects more poorly on Trump and the US that the host treated his guest so shabbily, raking him over the coals with fake and discredited materials, than on Ramaphosa, who kept his smile and rational stance. That is partially correct, but more than anyone else, Ramaphosa has himself to blame for the shambolic treatment.

    Yellow flags

    There were more than enough yellow flags beforehand. From the Executive Order in February, stopping all US financial assistance to South Africa, to the accusations of “white genocide”, to the expulsion of Ambassador Ebrahim Rasool, and the offer of “refugee” status to white farmers, Trump, mainly instigated by Elon Musk, has never disguised his misguided displeasure against South Africa. 

    The country’s decision to drag Israel to the ICJ over the war in Gaza and its leadership role in BRICS (which could potentially curtail the influence of the dollar), of course, were also unspoken sources of Trump’s anger.

    If a war foretold does not take the disabled person by surprise, how could Ramaphosa have ignored these yellow flags and decided to visit the lair with a golfing picture book as a peace offering, instead of a luxury Boeing 747 jetliner, the perfect sacrifice?

    Success. What success?

    The South African president has described the visit as “a great success.” Perhaps that would be correct if he were describing his narrow escape. There is no readout or evidence of the “reset” Ramaphosa requested. As of today, the fake video of the crosses on the roadside, supposed to be memorials for about 1,000 murdered white South African farmers, is still playing on the X handle of the White House. Nothing has changed.

    If Ramaphosa believes the visit was a success, his opinion has divided his country as much as it has a largely subdued continent. Femi Badejo, a diplomat and professor of Political Science, used the metaphor of a safari to describe the response across the continent. “If a lion grabs an antelope,” he asked me, “what do you think will happen to the rest of the herd?”

    South Africa is not just another African antelope; it’s a leader in the pack. Although many African diplomats are publicly spinning Ramaphosa’s visit as measured and dignified, behind the scenes, they are scandalised at the possible fate that awaits them – and the continent – especially with the African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA) expiring in September.

    Who’s next?

    For many reasons, primarily economic, the Africa that once stood up to bullies or was even deemed worthy allies has become a thing of the past. The Egyptian leader, Field Marshal Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, may receive red-carpet treatment at the White House due to that country’s strategic importance to the US, just as Burkina Faso’s Captain Ibrahim Traore, Russia’s poster boy, may get flowers in the Kremlin. The others, grappling with internal security challenges, discontent and fragile economies, are on their own as they struggle to navigate a hostile and deeply divided world.

    It would be a long time before another leader from the continent visits the White House, that is, if Trump has not closed half of the US embassies in Africa before he marks his first year in office. If, at this time, African leaders cannot find good company among themselves, they may as well learn to sit at home.

     

    Ishiekwene is Editor-in-Chief of LEADERSHIP and author of the book, Writing for Media and Monetising It.

  • Ishaq Oloyede’s cross – By Azu Ishiekwene

    Ishaq Oloyede’s cross – By Azu Ishiekwene

    The last time a public official wept on national TV, Nigerians regretted offering her towels instead of buckets to collect her tears. She was acting, but we didn’t know it.

    Diezani Allison-Madueke had just been appointed Minister of Transport and went on a tour to assess some major roads. At the Benin end of the Lagos-Benin highway, she broke down and wept. She was seeing for the first time, outside her bubble, what Nigerians knew and endured daily: poor, hazardous roads.

    Her tears changed nothing. She left the roads in a worse state than she found them, but Nigeria being Nigeria, she went on to become the Minister for Petroleum Resources and subsequently left the place in a more disastrous condition than Nigerian roads.

    On May 15, the Registrar of the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB), Professor Ishaq Oloyede, wept on national TV for a different reason. As a result of human negligence, the results of the 2025 UTME examination went horribly wrong, affecting 379,997 out of the 1.9 million students who took the exam. It was not a system glitch as widely reported. Some individuals responsible for patching or updating the servers were negligent, leading to a disastrous outcome.

    Paying the price

    The grief lies in the details. For instance, 19-year-old Faith Opesusi Timileyin, who was re-sitting the exam, hoping to study microbiology if she could improve on the 193 out of 400 she scored last year, took her own life by ingesting poison. She could not bear the shame of failing again. The same echoes of embarrassment and distress resonated across the country as thousands of young people, who made sacrifices and braved difficult conditions to take the exam, now contemplate their fate and what could have been.

    Yet, Nigerians, despite being jaded by years of disappointment with incompetent public officials, can sense the difference between Diezani’s crocodile tears and Oloyede’s misery. One was a con artist; the other, the victim of “horrible, but not unexampled error,” as Farooq Kperogi noted in his column on Saturday.

    Remaking of JAMB

    Oloyede’s JAMB is not JAMB as it was. One of the biggest dramas in the institution’s 47-year history unfolded two years after he was appointed registrar, following his exceptional record as vice-chancellor of the University of Ilorin. JAMB introduced computerised examinations in 2014, but the system, still in its infancy at the time, was marred by delays, confusion, and scratch-card fraud.

    Oloyede ordered an investigation, which found that the place was infested with snakes, including boa constrictors, that had allegedly swallowed millions of naira from the sale of scratch cards, except that the snakes were human beings. One Philomina Chieshe, a clerk at JAMB’s Benue State office, swallowed N36 million from the sale of scratch cards and told investigators and the court that it was indeed a snake that had mysteriously devoured the money.

    Killing the snakes

    Seven years after she was arraigned, neither Chieshe nor any of the reptiles in the scratch-card hole have been held accountable for the fraud. Apart from swallowing N36 million, which was equivalent to $100,000 at the time, the snakes also appear to have swallowed the courts and the prosecutors.

    I have criticised JAMB in the past for several reasons, mainly because I still believe that a decentralised placement system, as practised in pre-1978 Nigeria, the US, and South Korea, works better.

    Yet, whatever the inadequacies of JAMB, the board has, especially under Oloyede’s leadership in the last nine years, transformed from a snake-infested wasteland of corruption and mediocrity into one of Nigeria’s most responsive and better-run public institutions.

    Fresh air

    In a country where lawmakers routinely inflate the appropriation bill by billions of naira, and ministries and government departments are broke, unimaginative and opaque, Oloyede is a breath of fresh air. He has remitted over N55 billion to the federal treasury, compared to less than N60 million remitted in the 38 years preceding his tenure.

    But it’s not just about the money. To promote openness, accountability, and inclusiveness on the board, he expanded the decision-making process to include independents and other professionals in monitoring and evaluating the board’s activities, particularly the UTME exam. Still, despite our best efforts, bad things happen.

    ‘Not unexampled’

    The 2025 UTME disruption was a horrible mishap. Still, it’s not without recent examples, one from Oxford University in 2023 and the other from the 2025 US SAT exams, both of which were cited in Kperogi’s article. There was a particularly heart-rending debacle in September 2023 when the Federation of the Royal Colleges of Physicians of the UK made a catastrophic error in the Part 2 written results of the postgraduate medical diploma exam.

    Two hundred and twenty-two doctors were informed that they had passed when in fact they had failed, while 61 were told they had failed despite passing. Imagine the horror of the patients who may have been treated by “failed” doctors, not to mention the distress of those who passed but were told they failed, or the anguish of those who made progress yet were instructed to re-sit the exam.

    To resign or not?

    After taking responsibility for the error, Oloyede told the press that he was prepared to resign, but was persuaded that his resignation would compound rather than solve the problem. I agree. I do not share the view that all those calling for his resignation are necessarily out to settle personal scores, even though this may be correct in some instances, especially among politicians who have decided to ethnicise the matter.

    The registrar bears a responsibility to the memory of the candidate who died, to the thousands of hard-working candidates who gave their best in the exam, and to the reputation he has established as an exemplary public servant to reform the system and use the lessons from this tragic episode to enhance the processes and outcomes of future exams.

    Wake-up call

    Parents must also play a role. We exaggerate the significance of UTME results beyond their true value, placing unnecessary pressure on candidates. Under the current system, most universities and institutions of higher learning offer admission based on the weighted average of three examination results. While the UTME result constitutes 50 per cent of the final score, the WASSCE or O/Level results and post-UTME exams, if conducted, make up the remaining 50 per cent.

    Unfortunately, we have constructed a dangerous illusion that everything hinges on performance at JAMB, resulting in a frantic quest for JAMB success that now haunts us. We may never know if Faith would have taken her own life had she realised that a low JAMB score alone does not necessarily signify the end of the road to admission.

    Fall to rise

    Oloyede’s tears may seem insufficient to assuage a nation in grief, but he has demonstrated, over the last nine years and long before he became registrar, that he does not take his job lightly. One mishap should not define his tenure. When the ongoing investigation is complete and the house cleaning done, a sceptical public must know the steps taken to prevent a repeat.

    Ishiekwene is Editor-in-Chief of LEADERSHIP and author of the book, Writing for Media and Monetising It.

  • How to Crown an Impostor – By Azu Ishiekwene

    How to Crown an Impostor – By Azu Ishiekwene

    Burkinabe leader Ibrahim Traore is acting like a rock star. It’s not entirely his fault. He’s receiving a lot of help from dozens of social media users, especially TikTokers, who are desperate to anoint him as the best thing to come out of Burkina Faso since Thomas Sankara.

    Traore must be enjoying it, because even though he is pretending, he knows he’s not Sankara. He is an opportunist, happy to capitalise on the current frustration in his country and the Sahel for his benefit.

    A recent report by The Africa Report summarised Traore’s fictional character. “In dozens of viral TikTok edits, Traore leads imaginary armies, topples Western empires and is hailed as the ‘new Thomas Sankara.’ The captions, bold and uncompromising, include ‘Africa’s Messiah!’ ‘The People’s Captain!’ and ‘France Must Fall.’” 

    Traorephytes even invent videos of Rihanna and R Kelly (imprisoned since 2021) serenading the Burkinabe leader with hit songs!

    Fairytale 

    If he were an elected president, Traore would have served three years of his first term. When he overthrew the government of President Paul-Henri Sandaogo Damiba in September 2022 due to the rise in Islamic insurgency, and announced himself as head of the new Patriotic Movement for Safeguard and Restoration (PMSR), he promised to hand over power back to civilians in two years – that was in 2024. He hasn’t said a word about any possible new date since, and if you have seen him recently, you would know why.

    Apart from the adulation he has enjoyed as a social media fairytale, and dressing the part in stylish fatigues and matching neck scarves, berets, and boots, he has also talked the part. 

    He rallied support by giving speeches – not as many or as eloquently as he has been credited with – against Western imperialism and colonialism, vowing to create conditions at home to stem youth migration and tackle insurgency. Traore has portrayed himself as the new face of the African Renaissance. But talk is cheap.

    Traore and the other delinquents

    He has been in good company. The turmoil in West and Central Africa, which began in Chad, Mali, and Guinea, and later spread to Niger, has disrupted security and trade in the subregion, rupturing the 49-year-old Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS). Burkina Faso experienced two coups in a single year. After breaking out of ECOWAS, Traore and his fellow delinquents in the Sahel have pursued a singular mission of cutting off the noses of their Sahelian francophone ties to spite the faces of French business and political interests.

    To be fair, it’s a moment of reckoning for decades of brazen French insensitivity, compounded by President Emmanuel Macron’s lack of charity when he described the relationship between France and Francophone West Africa as “part of a civilising obligation.” Which was self-interested nonsense.

    Trouble speaking French

    France has accumulated a notoriously poor record on the continent that it can hardly be proud of. In Niger, for example, Tom Burgis writes in his book, The Looting Machine, that French state-owned atomic energy group Areva’s profit from uranium is twice Niger’s GDP. The shameful French footprint is the same in Burkina Faso and throughout the region.

    Fourteen Francophone countries, including the troubled ones – Burkina Faso, Guinea, Mali, Niger and Chad – hold 50 percent of their reserves in the French Treasury. This arrangement has been widely criticised, but if shame is in the French dictionary, it doesn’t exist in the Macron version.

    It is this background of despair and frustration, especially among the continent’s youths, that has fostered fairytale messiahs like Traore, who have managed to replace French hegemony with a mix of fussy state control and Russian suzerainty, with the Chinese just around the corner.

    If it’s not Sankara…

    Traoré is not Sankara, a fact that may be lost on Burkina Faso’s predominantly young population, as well as millennials and Gen Zs across the continent, whose forlorn search for role models tempts them to canonise an impostor. Of course, both are soldiers, similar in age and rank and usurpers of constitutional rule. But that’s where the similarity ends.

    Like the demagogues before him, Traore and significant sections of the military and political elite from Maurice Yameogo to Blaise Compaore have been complicit in the misery of their citizens, feeding them instead on a diet of pseudo-ideological jingoism and Western bashing, but offering no genuine alternative. Africa – anglophone, francophone, or lusophone – shares a similar heritage of exploitation; a few of its people, especially the political elite after independence, collaborated with the colonialists to compound the problem. 

    Hard to beat

    Where Traore is trading French hegemony for Russian control, for example, Sankara offered something different. In Burkina Faso: A History of Power, Protest and Revolution, Ernest Harsch said of Sankara, “In a conscious effort at nation-building, the revolutionary government also promoted a new national identity…that revolutionary project succeeded in altering the contours of the state and social and political life.”

    Whereas Sankara attempted to forge a proudly African identity, deepening regional integration among ECOWAS countries, Traoré and his cohorts have, by exiting, put at risk the estimated $596.42 billion in trade within the community, excluding informal trade among citizens, which constitutes 30 per cent of the transactions, not to mention the impact on regional collaboration on security.

    Sankara pursued radical economic self-sufficiency, agrarian reform, and social justice by outlawing female genital mutilation and promoting women’s rights. He rejected foreign aid, regardless of its source, even if it came without strings attached, something that Traore would be happy to overlook if it came from Russia.

    What matters

    I get it. With jihadists controlling about 40 percent of the country’s territory (it’s the most terrorised country), and climate shocks compounding its misery, the challenges are as different as are the times. That is why what Traore needs now is not clout-chasing or AI propaganda by Russian-backed Wagner, but sober-minded commitment to turn around the fortunes of his country, one step at a time. 

    For three years, Traore’s stock has risen amid algorithmic populism expressed in languages he neither understands nor speaks, with minimal institutional reforms, if any, and no prospects or commitment to return the country to civilian rule. 

    “His rhetoric,” The Africa Report said, “still falls short of real, measurable improvements in security and civic freedoms. There’s a gap between his message and the reality on the ground, something that will ultimately test his legitimacy and legacy.”

    That’s not what the netizens want to hear. But in the end, that’s what matters.

     

  • Adesina, Onanuga and the matter of being better off – By Azu Ishiekwene

    Adesina, Onanuga and the matter of being better off – By Azu Ishiekwene

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

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

    What’s in a measure?

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

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

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

    One-handed economists

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

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

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

    GDP vs GDP per capita

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

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

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

    Low or high?

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

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

    Beyond measure

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

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

    Are you better off?

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

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

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

    In the long run…

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

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

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

    Living it!

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

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

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

    White cat, black cat

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

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

  • Atiku, not Tinubu, is the wrecking ball – By Azu Ishiekwene

    Atiku, not Tinubu, is the wrecking ball – By Azu Ishiekwene

    There’s a concern that Nigeria could soon become a one-party state, not by law, like in China, but through subterfuge – or in legal terms, de facto – similar to Cameroon, Uganda, Equatorial Guinea, or even Rwanda, where the ruling parties are inflicting a slow, painful death on the opposition.

    Those who express this concern have given many reasons. The clearest and most troubling, it seems, is the wave of defections to the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) that has depleted the main opposition People’s Democratic Party (PDP).

    Wave after wave

    Apart from Federal lawmakers from Osun to Kaduna and Niger States who have defected, as of April 25, Governor Sheriff Oborevwori of Delta State and his predecessor, Ifeanyi Okowa and the entire Delta PDP structure defected to the APC, with more defections still anticipated nationwide. It’s likely that soon, five of the six South-South states, which have been the bastion of the PDP since 1999, may fall.

    Concerned persons, mainly those in the PDP and civil society, have said these are not defections. Instead, they argue that they are negotiated exits by politicians to evade trial by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) or for the personal political gain of the governors and other defectors. They have blamed the government of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu for instigating the defections out of a desperation to win the 2027 presidential election because his record in office cannot save him.

    Chasing shadows

    I think it’s nonsense. And though he did not use these words, former Vice President Atiku Abubakar, out of self-interest, put it more elegantly when he said he believed that defections are a fact of Nigerian politics and defectors are merely exercising their freedom of association under the law.

    A serial defector himself, and sixth-time contender for the presidency, it would have been a surprise if he said anything else. The problem, according to Atiku, is not the defections but the two-year record of performance that, all things being equal, cannot return the president to office.

    However, if the worst fear of Atiku and the opposition comes through, as is likely, and President Tinubu returns to office in 2027, as is probable, it would not be because of the defections; it would be because Atiku paved the way for the destruction of the PDP. He has proved to be the party’s undertaker-in-chief, something not often said, because it is convenient to blame Tinubu.

    Best chance lost

    For example, Sule Lamido, a leading member of the PDP, reportedly said on Tuesday that “the President should be fair” and save the opposition from being crushed. I’m unsure how much Lamido will pay Tinubu for self-sabotage. It’s surprising that one of the PDP’s founders does not know that a few of the founders ruined the PDP, and no one but its remnant can save it.

    The party’s best chance since it lost power 10 years ago was in 2023 when the APC was at its most vulnerable. The government of President Muhammadu Buhari would have viewed a hostile takeover by the opposition PDP as mercy killing, if not as an act of charity. Lamido knows, more than anyone else, that Atiku stood in the way.

    Rolling stone, no moss

    After contesting and losing the APC primaries to Buhari in 2014, Atiku defected again to PDP in 2017 and contested the PDP primaries in 2019. At that time, the PDP was recovering from the catastrophic defeat of 2015, during which it lost nine of its 22 states and 93 seats in the National Assembly. In the winner-takes-all creed of the presidential system, the PDP faced a long harmattan of recriminations and decay while Atiku was away.

    However, the party was gradually rebuilt, primarily through the efforts of Nyesom Wike, the Rivers State Governor at the time. When Atiku returned, the party was not what it was in its heyday. Still, it was not the ramshackle he had abandoned.

    The calamitous record of the APC under President Buhari, the party’s division leading up to the 2023 election, and the overall mood in the country at that time indicated that Nigeria was vulnerable to a hostile takeover. The country was fed up with the APC.

    Marabout’s prophecy

    But Atiku, being Atiku, felt obliged to live up to the marabout’s prediction in 1998 that he would one day be Nigeria’s president. It was this pursuit of prophecy that got him into trouble with President Olusegun Obasanjo in 2003; it was the blind pursuit of it that drove him from the PDP to the Action Congress of Nigeria (ACN), and later to the APC. The obsession with this prophecy finally brought him back to the PDP. He just had to run.

    But it shouldn’t have happened in 2023. While the odds favoured another party to succeed the exhausted APC, it certainly did not favour a northerner to run. Not after eight years of Buhari, a Northerner, not after Tinubu had wrested the flag of the APC, and certainly not when the convention in the PDP favoured rotation.

    Atiku cast aside the odds, defied the restraints of common sense, ignored the party’s convention and a last-minute understanding after a key London meeting, and subverted the primaries to carry the flag. Things, quite naturally, fell apart.

    Looking for a scapegoat

    The rest is history. The PDP lost. The party that boasted that it was Africa’s largest party, destined to rule for 60 years, lost its way, leaving its members desperately searching for shelter and rehabilitation, and looking for rest wherever it may be found.

    How can that be Tinubu’s problem when Atiku, the wrecking ball, still sits pretty? I understand the hysteria in the opposition, but it does not have to waste its current misery looking for scapegoats outside. Two years is still a reasonably long time to rebuild. The rise of Peter Obi nine months to the last general election and the impact the Labour Party made show that voters will reward a viable alternative platform.

    The word here is viable. Not a party led by opportunists who have made a life career of running with the hare and hunting with the hounds. Say what you like about Tinubu, he has stood with his progressive brand of politics for nearly 30 years, even standing alone against all odds and at significant personal and reputational costs.

    Go, Atiku, go

    If the PDP is serious about a future, and Atiku cares about it, he must immediately drop his ambition to run again. This ambition is at the heart of the current turmoil in the party; it was why the PDP broke into three factions on the eve of the last election; it was why he has been unable to rebuild the ruins two years later. And it is why he is arguably the first Nigerian presidential aspirant to lose two running mates to defections.

    There’s no point blaming Tinubu for the wreckage, or getting angry with Okowa for sexifying his incredible opportunism as the beginning of a movement. PDP will get a fresh start on life when Atiku, the main obstacle, steps down. Everything else is a waste of time.

  • Waiting for an African Pope – Azu Ishiekwene

    Waiting for an African Pope – Azu Ishiekwene

    It’s nothing to laugh off, however tempting. If the movies imitate life, we may not be as far away from an African pope. It happened in The Conclave, a film by Peter Straughan released in 2024, based on the novel by Robert Harris. 

    Through the intrigues, rivalries and scandals of the plot, Adeyemi, a Nigerian cardinal at the Conclave, almost emerged as pope before a contestant snookered him with the scandalous love story involving him and a nun, Shanumi, who had a child for him while he was 39 and she was 19.  

    If the plot sounds like something from the fertile imagination of the movie director, a Nigerian, Arinze Cardinal, came close to claiming the papacy in 2005. Arinze didn’t miss it because of any scandals. Once the youngest Catholic bishop in the world, he was judged not just as one of Africa’s best but also as a global theological legend. Still, he was a nearly pope.

    Banking on hope

    That was two decades ago, when the papacy was a relay amongst a few European countries, with Italy claiming the lion’s share of 217. Pope Francis was the first Jesuit and cardinal from the Americas to rise to the top of the papacy, raising hopes that the next one may come from Africa or Asia. 

    This hope is not based solely on legend. Africa is the fastest-growing region for the Catholic Church, with about 20 percent of the church’s 1.4 billion population. This demographic shift has spurred optimism that, after the Americas, Africa or Asia could produce the next pope, and better if he is the first Black pope in modern history.

    What does it mean for Africa?

    An African pope will inspire faith across the continent, demonstrating that, when it matters, the church casts its vote where its mouth is. Papal historians say that some early popes were from North Africa, citing Victor I, Miltiades I, and Gelasius I, from Roman-era Africa. 

    But Africans are unwilling to exhume the tombs of papal history going back to the 5th century for the remains of the last Black pope. They argue, for example, that if grace is the leveller, the rock upon which Peter’s Church is built, the baton of its highest office cannot be made to look like the exclusive right of three European countries – Italy, Germany and France.

    An African pope might be the most unambiguous indication yet that the Catholic Church might be inclined to continue with the legacy of Pope Francis, especially his advocacy for the poor, marginalised, and developing countries. And perhaps more than any time in the recent past, Africa has a solid lineup at this year’s Conclave.

    The lineup 

    OK, only a few bookmakers are betting on any of the 18 African cardinals in Rome. Most forecasts put their chances at 14 percent or less. Yet, Cardinal Peter Kodwo Appiah Turkson of Ghana, Cardinal Fridolin Ambongo Besungu of the Democratic Republic of Congo, and Cardinal Ignace Bessi Dogbo of Côte d’Ivoire are among the best crop you can find anywhere in the world. 

    The least favoured African candidate, Cardinal Robert Sarah from Guinea, is not because of competence. He is a risky candidate because of his age (79, three years older than when Francis assumed the papacy) and his conservative views. His position on various issues, from LGBTQ rights to the exclusive use of Latin for the liturgy, puts him at odds with most European electors. 

    Stars not enough

    Despite its bright stars, why does Africa still appear unlikely to get the number one spot? Cardinal Sarah’s dilemma – his mainly conservative views – reflects not only the sentiment amongst the other 17 cardinals and the predominant position of the 281 million faithful on the continent, this conservatism also impairs the chances of the African cardinals.

    The beggar church

    Yet, conservatism is only one of the many obstacles. The African church may have the fastest-growing flock, but it is also the begging bowl. In a world where money is the bicycle of the gospel, the African church is the largest recipient of many forms of financial aid. Although the irony is less rampant among the Catholic church than it is among Pentecostals, Africa has some of the world’s richest Forbes-worthy pastors in contrast to the majority of the poor flock.

    According to one statistic, at 32.6 percent between 2020 and 2023, the African Catholic church received the largest assistance per region from the Catholic Charity Aid. Compare this with the German national church, for example, which has $26 billion of the net assets of the Church.

    Some also argue that African cardinals have limited chances because they have faced less scrutiny. An article published by www.devdiscourse.com on April 22 acknowledged that even though a figure like Cardinal Turkson has emerged as a potential candidate, “Vatican insiders highlight the lack of public scrutiny by African contenders compared to their Western counterparts, potentially complicating their candidacy.”

    Conclave politics

    Yet, others say politics may be the most potent obstacle against African candidacy, reminiscent of the deadly secret plots in Straughan’s movie once the doors in the Domus Santa Martha were shuttered and millions of the faithful waited outside the Sistine Chapel to see the white smoke and the face of the new pontiff.

    It won’t take very long to find out. Pope Francis wanted his successor elected within two weeks of his death. It used to take much longer. In The Conclave, for example, which spiked 283 percent across streaming platforms in one day from 1.8 million to 6.9 million, it took five votes over an unspecified period to elect the cardinal from Kabul, Cardinal Benitez.

    The longest papal conclave after the death of Pope Clement IV lasted almost three years, from November 1268 to September 1, 1271, after which Pope Gregory X was elected.

    Long road to change

    For the pontificate and the faithful, it’s been a long road since. The Catholic Church has evolved from its medieval conflicts, reformation and counter-reformation through seasons of loss of power. 

    While books like In God’s Name: An Investigation into the Murder of Pope John Paul I by David A. Yallop highlight the tragedy of an institution endangered by internal corruption and fierce power play, the bestseller, The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown explores the grip and fascination of theological myth over the faithful and even millions of non-believers. 

    Yet the encyclicals of Pope Francis, his willingness to confront dogma with doubt and creed with charity, show the extent of introspection and modernisation in the Church. As the world waits for the white smoke from the Conclave, those who hope these changes may be so profound as to produce an African pope may have to wait a bit longer. Perhaps a sequel to Straughan’s movie would be the sign. 

    The odds, this time, favour yet another Italian pope.

  • Do children of politicians in power make sense? – Azu Ishiekwene

    Do children of politicians in power make sense? – Azu Ishiekwene

    It’s understandable if you have not paid attention. I can’t help noticing because minding other people’s business is a part of my job description. On Tuesday, the newspapers reported a spat between the children of two leading politicians, Mohammed Abubakar and Shamsudeen Bala Mohammed.

    Mohammed and Shamsudeen are the children of Atiku and Bala. Atiku was Nigeria’s vice president, and Bala is the Bauchi State governor and chairman of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) Governors’ Forum.

    Both are ranking members of the main opposition, PDP, a party making as much effort to find its way as it is desperate to lose it. The tweetstorm between the children of these leaders has only piled on the party’s misery, and what lies ahead doesn’t look pretty, especially after the PDP governors’ meeting in Ibadan.

    Back story

    The fight between both sons is the political equivalent in the music industry of the bitter sibling rivalry between Peter and Jude Okoye, siblings now dragging themselves publicly over royalty from their once famous band, P-Square. If PDP had any royalty left, it squandered it on the insatiable appetite of its leaders, who have eaten the present and future of the party.

    Atiku’s son is accusing Governor Mohammed of stabbing his father in the back when he ran for the presidency in 2023. The governor’s son responded that nobody plays as dirty as Atiku, whom he accused of undermining his father’s bid for a second term in Bauchi.

    The tweet rage has sparked discussions about how far the children of politicians in power should go to fight publicly for or against their parents’ political interests and whether or not such brawls hinder or help their parents’ political fortunes.

    In another life, it would have been considered poor breeding for teenagers or young adults to insert themselves in a fight between adults.

    For example, despite the fight-to-the-finish between MKO Abiola and military president General Ibrahim Babangida, who cancelled the 1993 presidential election won by Abiola, their children stayed mainly out of the fray. The equivalence of social media has changed all that.

    Born to rage

    The pervasiveness of social media and its popularity, especially among teenagers and young adults, has increased the sense of agency among these groups and amplified their voices, however strident and deeply worrying they may get sometimes.

    From the blogger and daughter of the famous Ibadan politician Kemi Olunloyo, who recently declared on her blog that she would have nothing to do with her family again after her father died, to Bashir, an unabashedly vile tweep and the son of former Kaduna State Governor Nasir El-Rufai, there is an emerging activism among the children of politicians. It’s a cross between rebellion and the search for identity or the process of becoming.

    The more you look

    Does it make sense? Is it always an indication of parental values or a measure of the family’s stand on political issues? Neither Atiku Abubakar nor Bala Mohammed has weighed in yet. Even though their children’s public fight feels like a scene from “Sons of the Caliphate”, nothing they said was false. Perhaps, it was how and the speed of the venom that raised eyebrows.

    Before the 2023 elections, when Atiku’s protégé and prominent traditional titleholder in Bauchi, Bello Kirfi, fell out with Bala, the latter (with former Speaker Yakubu Dogara) openly worked against Bala’s reelection. During the presidential primaries in Abuja, Bala ran against Atiku.

    The proxy war between Atiku’s man, Kirfi, and Bala almost cost the governor his reelection, an offence the governor will not forgive. He was saved by the skin of his teeth and the support of former Rivers State Governor Nyesom Wike and the G5, after which Mohammed stripped Kirfi of his traditional title.

    Rise of social media

    Older adults who are used to nuanced, conservative methods of airing their grievances may be embarrassed, even offended, by the tweet brawl between Mohammed and Shamsudeen. Still, in the last two decades, we have seen that social media, the playground for teenagers and young adults, has also become a legitimate sphere of politics – and in the current Trumpoverse, it’s even a tool of diplomacy, thanks to US President Donald Trump.

    But should blog posts, often typically lacking in depth and context, become the measure of what is truly important and enduring? Do they represent more than what they are – random outbursts of fleeting thoughts from entitled or angry tribes? Or do they teach us something we need to pay attention to?

    Price of feuds

    Some years ago, Bobby Goodlatte took a stand on Twitter against his father, Bob, a Republican, whom he accused of “political grandstanding” that led to the sacking of an FBI agent Bobby described as “a patriot.” For that reason, he sided with a Democrat running against his father and used social media to mobilise votes for him.

    We don’t even need to go far. In 2017, Moremi, daughter of Babafemi Ojudu, the former Special Adviser (Political Matters) to President Muhammadu Buhari, attacked the government, her father’s employer. Although she later apologised to her father, her action raised questions about who she was speaking for. Yet everyone knows it’s a generation that wears its emotions on its sleeve.

    Who pays?

    Seyi, son of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, who uses the handle @STinubu, last tweeted in May 2023. But his activities offline, which invariably become rich social media harvests, have generated no less interest than that of the more social-media active children of other politicians. Do these children’s actions, especially online, carry any significant political risk for their parents?

    The answer is, sometimes. A 2020 media psychology study said, “When people believe they are not alone in their cause, it encourages them to take action. For the children of well-known or newsworthy parents in the contentious political arena, their actions also become newsworthy by virtue of proximity to their parents and the unceasing demand for news content that will attract audience attention.”

    The potential impact of such feuds could range from damage to political image to loss of credibility arising from a perception of lack of parental authority and a house divided against itself.

    High-profile family disputes or squabbles amongst the children of political heavyweights can amplify the controversy and undermine the politician’s agenda. An example is the spectacular case of Bukola and Gbemisola in the Saraki dynasty. In cases where such children are viewed as potential successors, it could haunt them and fracture support.

    “Sins” of the children

    Even when children are old enough to answer their own names, in largely conservative societies, the “sins” of the children may weigh heavily on how their parents are perceived.

    The tweet by Bashir El-Rufai, for example, that the killings in Southern Kaduna would continue until the attacks on Fulani herdsmen ceased was considered inflammatory and insensitive. It was also deemed a reflection of his father’s politics as governor for eight years.

    Seyi Tinubu’s offline comment that his father is the greatest president in Nigeria’s history raised a firestorm on social media. Whatever the cost of his comment, he is unlikely to be deterred, and his actions will continue to enrich social media content in the days ahead.

    As we move closer to 2027, the actions of the children of newsworthy politicians will be a valuable lens by which we try to view and understand the political space. We’ll wait to see how much this currency will shape the future.

  • Fake outrage and the making of the Uromi 16 – By Azu Ishiekwene

    Fake outrage and the making of the Uromi 16 – By Azu Ishiekwene

    It’s a most unlikely crime scene. I travelled by road from the Benin airport to Uromi, Esanland’s most significant town, for a wedding about three years ago. 

    The fear of kidnappers is a constant worry for road users. I was nervous for nearly four hours of the taxi ride, especially as we turned off the busy Agbor Road and veered onto narrow, lonely roads meandering through many forested small towns and villages.

    I was nervous. When the driver ran into a pothole, and a loud noise suggested we might have lost a wheel or something, I insisted he should keep moving, as long as the car could still move, until we later discovered it was the wheel cover. 

    Entering Uromi

    It was not until we passed Ubiaja, the hotspot between Biafran and Federal troops during Nigeria’s civil war and cultural capital of Esanland, and reached Igueben, the rusty town of one of Nigeria’s famous politicians, Tom Ikimi, about 20 minutes’ drive from Uromi, that I started breathing easy. It was my first visit to Uromi, a town I had known and heard about since my teenage years. 

    Memories from the past

    My earliest memory of this town was when my mother worked as a cook at St. Theresa’s Hospital, Kirikiri Ajegunle, Lagos, owned at the time by Dr. Okoli, an Igbo man, and his wife, a nurse and an Esan from Uromi. Occasionally, when there was some social event in Uromi, the Okolis took my mum along to cook, and she returned with plenty of palm oil, large tubers of yam, and fresh fruits. 

    But there’s another memory of Uromi apart from my mother’s work and travels. It’s the historical significance of this town in the old Benin Empire. More contemporary references might be about the exploits of some of Uromi’s notable people, such as the three Anthonys – Enahoro, Olubunmi-Okogie and Anenih – whose footprints in politics and liberation theology cannot be easily forgotten.  

    Innocence lost to rage

    Yet, these notable persons were inspired by the town’s extraordinary heritage of struggle and resistance to oppression. Uromi resisted the expansionism of the Benin Empire during Oba Ozolua’s reign and fought the British colonial invaders. 

    Though many of the town’s original settlers are believed to have come from central Nigeria, migrants from other places also settled there, highlighting its tolerance for visitors and diverse heritage as the town grew into one of Esanland’s most important agricultural trading posts.

    That diversity, enterprise and welcoming spirit now seem like a story from a bygone era. After the tragic killing of the 16 travellers reportedly going to Kano to observe the Eid on March 28, the town has lost its innocence. For a long time, it will be remembered not as that place my mother frequented as a cook or the homestead of Enahoro, one of Nigeria’s greatest patriots and nationalists, but as a crime scene.

    Agony of bereavement

    The heartbreaking story of Hauwa Bala (whose husband, Isah, was among the Uromi 16) who went into premature labour upon hearing of her husband’s tragic death or Sadiya Sa’adu, who lost a brother and a nephew will haunt the community, as will the stories of each of the dead, and indeed the unfolding horror in Uromi now under siege and a brutal crackdown. The security services are poised to forget their complicity and instead crush the town in a mocking search for justice.

    Journey to anomie

    How did we get here? Kidnapping and banditry have grown from a fringe business to a N2.23 trillion naira industry, and hardly any part of the country is spared this misery. In the last 10 years, clashes among rival cult gangs have been rife in Edo State, as have been reports of severe violence as a result of farmer-herder clashes. One report said in 2020, Edo was the third most affected by violence in the Niger Delta after Delta and Rivers States. 

    Violent clashes between farmers and herders have led to significant loss of lives. In February alone, 27 farmers in Edo were reportedly killed by herdsmen. This figure is only a tiny part of the bloody trail that often includes grotesque stories of rape, murder and wantonness wrecking many farming communities across the country as herders roam southwards for pasture.

    Politicians’ fake outrage

    While the affected communities writhe in anguish, official response, especially by politicians and the police, has ranged from chewing the microphone with empty promises of justice to sheer indifference and, in fact, alleged complicity in supplying weapons to the herders in some cases. We’ve seen this repeatedly across the country, from Uromi in Edo to towns in Benue and Plateau States. 

    When the state, expected to guarantee security and maintain law and order, abdicates its responsibility, turns a blind eye or becomes complicit, people take the law into their own hands. What happened in Uromi on March 28 is one of the tragic outcomes. 

    The appearance of shock and outrage amongst politicians and the security services is hypocrisy disguised as empathy. They can fool themselves all day long. Unless they begin to rebuild trust in communities and people – whether farmers or herders – can see that there are consequences for breaking the law, Uromi will not be the last tragic crime scene. 

    Citizens’ dilemma

    Yet, while many communities are under attack, residents are on their own. The Supreme Court recently gave a judgment upholding the death sentence on Citizen Sunday Jackson and criminalising self-defence even in the face of a clear threat to life. The judgment is an absurdity that compounds the dilemma of communities coping with security services often unwilling, unable or unavailable to protect citizens. 

    If unarmed Jackson had known that self-defence against herdsman Boua Bururo, who stabbed him seven times on his farm, would not avail him, that if he didn’t die by his attacker’s knife, he would have still been killed by the law, he might have surrendered to his attacker. What a fate!

    What kind of society gives the victims the short end of the stick? If communities cannot trust that the police can defend them and courts will not provide justice, self-help prevails. As things stand, respect for life and private property rights is endangered, and to pretend otherwise is to enable jungle justice further.

    No excuses

    What happened to the Uromi 16 stands condemned, but sadly, the fake outrage by politicians obscures the history behind the tragedy. It neither guarantees that a proper investigation will be done and the perpetrators brought to justice, nor does it assuage current tensions and paranoia in many communities across the country. 

    Open, unrestrained must stop. The Federal Government must also fast-track community/state policing, which will hopefully use modern surveillance tools and techniques to prevent and fight crime. The current security system is unfit for purpose.

    Burden of kindness

    I’m sorry for the truck driver who, after driving past the stranded passengers early on, turned back nearly two kilometres to pick up the Uromi 16 and other stranded passengers from the roadside. Even though he escaped the mob attack in Uromi, he now lives with the guilt of a bloody reward for his act of kindness, the tragic consequence of a society where trust and compassion have declined. 

    Neither the Uromi I read about in history nor the one my mother visited is the same as the present crime scene. Something is broken, and false outrage won’t fix it.