OTHERS' VIEWS

OTHERS' VIEWS

To clear the cobweb of misattribution, let it be known that this piece was not inspired by the 2003 South Korean film, “Song of the bandits”, a captivating South Korean action period drama set against the backdrop of the 1920s during the Japanese occupation of Joseon. Wikipedia describes that movie as “a tale where those who head to Gando, a land of lawlessness, unite as one to protect the homeland of the Koreans… a prelude to the Gando massacre.”

 

The following is totally different. It is the poetic rendition of a repentant bandit (Oh, that word – repentant – again!), who wonders why we keep beating about the bush while the bush-rat is running rings round us. The Oxford Dictionary does not equivocate about the definition of the word, bandit: A criminal gangster, hooligan, marauder, mobster, outlaw, robber, brigand, desperado, hijacker, pillager, plunderer, villain.

Welcome!

Self Intro

 

I am proud to be a bandit, dreaded by all, threatened by nothing

I am your worst nightmare, the necro-trance you would rather not have

I used to be a far off, invisible demon, a gnome inhabiting the woods,

I used to be a violent ghost, here today, there tomorrow, with bloody trail,

But not anymore! Now, I’m your personal armageddon, your collective nemesis

If I don’t get you, I’ll catch your relative

Or, are they all wearing armoured vests?

There is honour among merchants of death, that is why I give Boko Haram its flowers;

Ansarul, ISWAP, Lakurawa – localised ‘territorialists’ redrawing the map of terror

Great precursors in this fascinating industry of violence:

Ensuring that the interests of ransom-paying captives are prioritised.

A hostage is more useful alive than dead. Remember, he’s also a plaything.

Have you ever seen the dread in the eyes of a hostage awaiting slaughter?

You don’t know the power in the nozzle of a gun, loaded or blank

Who wants to find out?

Everybody

On the floor!

Close your eyes!

I have news for you: We are all bandits— religious bandits, political bandits,

Material bandits, ethno-national bandits. Our locus may be different

But if I collect my tithes on the highway by kidnapping your traditional ruler

And Lakurawa collects its own through farmers paying protection tax

While the politician collects his through ‘oversights’,

What makes one tithe superior to the other?

While demonising the highway bandit?

Are some tariffs more equal than others?

How many trillions have you thrown at Boko Haram, Ansarul and Lakurawa?

How many more thrown at kidnappers, armed herdsmen, unknown gunmen?

You segment terror because it is an industry;

You feast on calling the same thing by different names.

And designing amnesty as if it was a Niger Delta-type conundrum;

Making a spectacle of ‘Repentant Terrorists’ in resplendent ‘aso ebi’,

As if they were extended relatives celebrating a festival.

Frustrated Citizen

But wait and watch the video of the frustrated citizen who calls out the generals

For using their troops to corner fat budgets

Leading to erosion of morale; just what the terror apparatchiks need

To rout frontline posts and other formations

For, no army is as easy to pulverise as one lacking in collective self-esteem

As borne out by their lack of necessary provisions.

Oh, hear out the frustrated citizen, who dares to ask why, why?

“If you think I don’t know what I am saying, I dare you to come for me”, he declares, looking straight into the camera. “I’ll prove it to you that some of these corrupt military officers and some of these corrupt politicians are sending a bunch of demoralised soldiers, ill-equipped soldiers, to go and face their death in the name of trying to protect the country.

“Are you telling me that the generals are not aware that some of the allowances of these soldiers are still not being paid?

The soldiers are being shortchanged,

They’re ill-equipped and demoralised!”

And the aggrieved citizen rants on and on.

Borrow Some Sense

If you’re not too arrogant to think that you can’t learn anything from a bandit

I’ll lend you some sense –

Terror is terror, be it an armed carjack, hijack, sea piracy, or highway abduction

Ransom is ransom, no matter how lowly or illustrious the hostage

Stripped of its religious veneer and fake spirituality

There is no difference between Boko and Ansarul and bandit and Lakurawa

We are all vendors of violence and death and minters of ransom.

You have a war on your hands

Forget your coinages

We are all agents of death, armed to the hilt

The only difference is that we bandits know we are waging a war

But you think this is just a social kind of fever, an insurgency

Curable with light arms and grammar

And conferences and summits.

Look at the trail of Boko Haram

Since 2009, the group’s terror has disoriented 15 million people,

Displaced over two million and killed over 30,000;

In the name of which God?

They stand excommunicated by respectable Muslims

Who dissociate their faith from such butchery

So, don’t be fooled. We are all bandits!

Did you hear Mukhtar Ya’u Madobi?

“Boko Haram and its ISWAP faction are ramping up attacks, employing asymmetrical warfare tactics with alarming effectiveness…

The brazen assault on the 153 Task Force Battalion in Marte LGA on May 12, 2025, epitomises this alarming trend. Insurgents overran the base, killed and captured soldiers, looted the armoury, and destroyed military vehicles and equipment.”

Understand my position fellow countryman,

I make no claim to being a better person

All I’m telling you is that life tolerates no vacuum –

Too many ungoverned children, ungoverned adolescents

And ungoverned spaces

At the mercy of ungovernable outlaws

Taking advantage of under-governed polity!

Nobody negotiates with evil;

You confront and extirpate it!

Evil has no half measures; it envelopes and dominates

If left to fester, it metastasises—

Like Boko Haram, one franchise becomes, four

And may yet beget more monsters

That will eat up your unborn future.

 

A New Song

There is no terror that lasts forever

Perhaps you’ll give yourselves a breather?

Project an alternative universe to those of us living outside the law!

Can you return the society to the days of old

When hard work was guaranteed to put bread on the table?

When we did not abandon almajiris to the elements?

When we were devoted to our faith but never grudged other people theirs?

We are not asking for too much,

Just a chance at the normalcy you take for granted

Minimum literacy and numeracy to help us cope with 2025 Nigeria

To return to the human family

Instead of living like cacodemons in your forests and bushes

Plotting the next set of abductions and bloodfest,

Living from ransom to ransom.

I am the ultimate repentant bandit

If you will heed my counsel and keep your part of the bargain

Then, hear this: Throw a combo at the monster:

Re-armed heavily compensated troops; Military contractors;

Civilian vigilantes; forest guards; mobile police; intelligence agencies;

Neighbourhood guards, traditional institutions…

In six months, you’ll sing a new song.

As the memories of President Bola Tinubu’s recent state visit to Anambra State still keep reverberating as a resounding success, the urge for a contemplative reflection on the mastermind behind the event is irresistible. 

Ever cloaked in his inspiring simplicity by demeanour and dressing, Anambra State Governor, Prof. Chukwuma Charles Soludo, CFR, today stands tall in being a catalyst of regional progress and egalitarianism, a selfless subnational leader who could pull chestnuts of progressive commitments out of the overburdened hands of a Federal Government. 

Love, envy or hate him, Governor Soludo has proven time and again to be more than a governor. He is an architect of hope, and a luminous star shining a vivid path towards a brighter future for the Southeast and Nigeria at large. 

Without a doubt, Governor Soludo’s commitment to regional development trumps political rhetoric. He is a rallying champion, a tireless advocate for the Southeast’s potential who believes in transforming the landscape with tangible progress. His ambitious vision of Anambra becoming the “African Dubai-Taiwan-Silicon Valley” is an authentic blueprint being meticulously executed, brick by brick. The new roads that stretch across the state, the hospitals that heal, the schools that enlighten – these are not just routine projects; they are proofs of his relentless dedication to uplifting the people.

In Nigeria, many can pay lip service to patriotism. But Governor Soludo’s pan-Nigerian federalist ethos is a force that travels beyond the borders of Anambra to reach hearts across the nation. He understands that true progress lies in unity, in a harmonious symphony of states working together with the centre towards the common good. 

His intellectual acuity, honed through years of dedicated service to Nigeria, allows him to navigate the complex dynamics of Nigerian politics with grace and wisdom. He is a bridge-builder, a charismatic leader who commands respect in different quarters, promoting dialogue and cooperation where others see fault lines.

Of course, his critics may whisper their doubts. Their voices would get lost in the roar of progress. They may question his methods, but they cannot deny the tangible results of his leadership. For Governor Soludo is a man of action, a doer who translates vision into reality. He is a leader who understands the delicate balance between ambition and pragmatism, between dreaming big and delivering on promises.

His relationship with President Tinubu, cultivated in the nuances of shared ideals and mutual respect, is a pointer to his ability to navigate political divides. Their partnership, a sync of collaboration and shared vision, now promises to usher in an era of unprecedented inclusive development for Anambra and Southeast. 

Never a manufactured persona, Governor Soludo always speaks with strong conviction, his words dripping with the hope and aspiration of a people yearning for transformation. He is a leader who inspires, who motivates, who ignites the spark of possibility in every project he touches.

On iconic leadership pedigree, he carries within him the echoes of past Nigerian greats, the Awoist dedication to people-centred development, as well as the M.I. Okpara spirit of industrial and agricultural revolution. His vision for a prosperous Anambra, a thriving Southeast, and a united Nigeria is a destiny he is determined to fulfil.

So, in the quintessential leader called Professor Chukwuma Charles Soludo is evolving a vibrant thread, a symbol of hope, a luminance of progress. He is someone who will undoubtedly play a game-changing role in shaping the future of Nigeria, a future where unity, progress, and prosperity shall reign supreme, no matter the odds. And yes, no cacophony of criticism can stall this force of Soludoism, a propeller of the people, and a bridge to a brighter tomorrow.

 

The phone call came in the afternoon of Saturday, May 10. I was particularly tired and very low in spirit. And, usually, when I’m that way, I don’t take calls. My doctor’s advice. “Comfort, drop the phone, particularly  when you are tired. Rest. Shut your eyes. Don’t talk.” That is the wahala I have been going through since the past four years when my doctors began to, literally, run my life.

But this call was from my maternal home, Ihiagwa. I am proudly Chris Asoluka’s “nwa-nwa”. There are calls one does not ignore. This was one of them. So, I took it. After the initial pleasantries which had began to irritate me because the caller kept asking, repeatedly, if I was okay, the next question “arrested” me. “Have you heard what happened, what we are dealing with now?” I paused. He sighed. And added “life”. So, I thought somebody has been kidnapped, or somebody’s farm has been invaded by rogue herdsmen. I mean, those are usually the most current news from the South-east. Many people, including yours truly, have developed shock absorbers to such news. We just sigh, shake our heads helplessly, and life drags on. But none of those was the case. This was a combination of thunder, lightening, earthquake and tsunami. “Chris Asoluka died”, he dropped the bomb slowly. I had no response. But I slowly sat on the floor to avoid a fall because I had immediately began to sweat dangerously even though the room was cold. My mouth instantly turned dry.  I was just gazing at my phone. Speechless. And then, I screamed: “Nneka!”, and cut off the phone.

The news was difficult for me to process. There must be a mistake somewhere, I finally concluded. Chris called and spoke to me just about a month earlier. He said he and his lovely wife, Nneka, just thought about me; that we hadn’t spoken for sometime; that they plan to come visit me in the house; he was apologetic he hadn’t called for a couple of months but quickly told me he had, also, been out of the country where he underwent surgery. So, we agreed to see as soon as I was back to the country. And now this.

This is not true; there must be some mistake somewhere, I consoled myself. Wishful thinking. But, with faith in God,  I picked the phone and called two people I was sure would know. I called my cousin, Chief Martin Agbaso. As soon as he picked and I heard his voice, soooo very low, I knew Chris had gone. Two of them were great friends and each other’s confidant. I was  reluctant to ask him for details. But I needed to know how and why? So, I called another good friend of his, Nick Oparandudu. We spoke. And my blood pressure shot dangerously up thereafter.  After about two hours, I had the courage to speak with Nneka. It was no use. She was “silently” hysterical. I was loudly hysterical. She was in the village. And would come back the next day, she managed to tell me. I managed to hear that.

Chris always wanted to pass on in his village:

So, Chris planned his own passing, was my conclusion; in his own terms. He always talked about passing on at home anytime it was time for him to go. He would, jokingly, we  usually thought, talk about how he hated it when somebody died, and the body would be wrapped up and transported home in the luggage compartment of an airplane. He didn’t like the hassle or the discomfort and inconvenience the process gave family members. He thought it was a disruption of other people’s lives and activities. Just like him. A gentleman of the first order. He hated hassles. He hated any inconvenience to anybody. So, that must be why it took less than 24 hours after he passed for his family to announce the devil-cursed news,  funeral dates included. That was what he wanted. He hated too much protocol.

Morbid sense of humor

Anybody who knew him knows he had a sense of humor. He spoke slowly. Never raised his voice. Full of wisdom. Played with proverbs. Played with words. Held his audience spellbound with his combination of serious points, words of wisdom, proverbs and  humor that cracked one’s ribs. But atimes, his humor can be morbid.

Take these two.

When he lost his eldest sister in London, and having lost all the others, he became  not only a confirmed orphan but the only one of his siblings alive. So, he would tell his wife: “Nneka, pamper me o. If you don’t, I will join my siblings. And everybody would have a good laugh  and add “Nneka, pamper him ooo!”

And this. One day, after a funeral at a beautiful private cemetery in Lagos, he turned to Nneka: ” I kind of like this place. They are all neighbors. It’s like a Community. When I die, may be you should bury me here so that at night, all of us neighbors will come out, sit down and be telling stories. If you bury me at Ihiagwa, I will be alone there. No neighbors.” From Nneka was “God forbid”

And Asoluka was a consummate family man

He loved his wife and children to the moon and back. He had three children, but particularly had a special bond with his only daughter, Somachi. I remember the day Soma wedded. After the father- daughter dance which we thought he enjoyed, Chris came to where I was, and broke down in tears. He asked me for a handkerchief to wipe his tears  I had a good laugh at him, said ‘shame’, and in addition to the handkerchief handed him his sunglasses which he kept in my custody. “Jealous, protective father,   cover your eyes so Soma will not see them red”, I taunted him.

Chris always wanted his family around him. And, without them knowing, he planned it to be so on his death bed. He made sure Nneka and Soma were around him all through the few days in hospital when nobody expected his passing. He was alert; was never put on oxygen; was discussing with his wife and daughter and his medical team. Soma cheered him on. Hung onto his every word, every movement. Applauded him each time he took his medicines, or when blood was drawn from his vein for different tests. “Good job daddy,” Soma will tell him. “Okwuruoha, Okwuru Owere”, she would hail him. And they would hold hands. Nneka will tell him: “You know I’m leaving here with you. Once you are stronger, we leave.” Nothing prepared her for her husband’s passing.

The man and his books, the mentor

He loved books. He authored quite a few. And was not denied the company of books even in the hospital. Soma was around to read for him. She would sit by the bedside and read since he couldn’t hold the book by himself because of all kinds of medical “gadgets” attached to his hands in particular.

He loved to impact knowledge on others. He did that while in the hospital – to his medical team.

An accomplished development strategist, an accomplished financial guru, Lawyer, Asoluka mentored not a few people. One only needs to go to the internet which has been on fire, literally, since his passing. Testimonies from those he mentored are coming in like claps of thunder. While in the hospital, he continued with his mentoring, guidance of his  medical team in his own field and other fields. He was home to any subject.

The man with a Community spirit.

He loved his community. He was proudly Owere, and proudly Ihiagwa – his community. He, always, thought about things to improve his Community, to improve Owerri. The Ihiagwa -Nekede – Owerri road was one of his greatest worries, his nightmare. As he was being transported to Owerri from Ihiagwa a couple of hours after he fell ill, his thoughts were on that road. As the vehicle, no thanks to the bad road threw him up and down, he said he had discussed the road with his good friend, Imo State Governor, Senator Hope Uzodinma and was hopeful he would not fail him; that the road will get same treatment as the scores of others the Governor handled.

Now, the urgent prayer is that when his body will be transported from Owerri to Ihiagwa on July 27, the road will not bounce his casket/body around; it will be so smooth so that Chris will be smiling and hailing the Governor for honoring him in death.

The man with a a kindred spirit, proudly Owerri, unadulterated Igbo

Since Chris Asoluka’s passing,   from Lagos to the USA to Canada, it has been all very moody, dreary and long faces for my siblings and I. It has been rivers of tears. One of my younger sisters whose wedding  Chris and Nneka  were sponsors has been inconsolable. A man with a great kindred spirit, I didn’t need to ask him to be the sponsor. It was a role he offered to play, especially, when he knew that my sister’s husband is, like Nneka, Anambra. At the wedding reception, he was all over the place to make sure everything was okay, everybody was comfortable. Aside from my siblings and I being his “nwa- nwa,” we had a special relationship with him. He was “our big brother!” and we are devastated  by this sudden separation.

In Lagos where he lived, he was in the forefront for the fight for the progress of the Igboman. He had been the President of the intellectual engine room of the Igbo,  Aka Ikenga, Lagos. He was a solid Ohaneze member. He had sort, once, to be its President, to give it a new direction, but quickly, and quietly  withdrew when the office became controversial. Chris was a Federal Parliamentarian where he put his people first. He was Imo State’s Commissioner for Finance at a time where he showed unprecedented zeal, patriotism and accountability.

Dr. Chris Chigoziri Asoluka

Why I am angry

My anger over Chris Asoluka’s passing boils to high heavens. I am not just angry, I am incensed. Chis’ passing is like somebody who had crossed the Atlantic Ocean, crossed the Pacific Ocean, only to drown in a stream.

The questions I have been asking nobody in particular are: “What kind of joke did this guy pull  on everybody? What kind of magic is this? What kind of ‘wayo’ is this?” I am not going to lie that his health had been 100 per cent for some months, but whose health in Nigeria is 100 per  cent?  Who is absolutely free from these silly illnesses? We are all dependent on our medications, on the whims and caprices of our doctors.

There was nothing to suggest that Chris was in danger. The time we thought he was bad had since past by months and months. He was taking his medications religiously. He was keeping to his appointments with his doctors- both within and outside Nigeria- religiously. He was strong. He was going about his businesses. He was playing the role of husband, father, grandfather, big brother and mentor to many. There was no sign that it was his time to be harvested from Mother-earth by the great Creator. He was not ripe. If he was not strong, would he have gone home for the funeral of the Traditional Ruler of Ihiagwa, HRH Eze Lucky Ajoku? It was a funeral he ended up even not attending because he suddenly fell ill on its eve.

Why did the devil-cursed illness not begin in Lagos where his doctors were,  even though I understand the hospital he was taken to in Owerri is well equipped. It would have been easier to handle him in Lagos and/or air-ambulance him out. In deed, an air ambulance, provided by a worried friend of his was ready and waiting. But there was so much confidence in the hospital where he was that the air ambulance was asked to just wait, “let’s see.” I mean, from all indications, he was doing very well. Hope was high. Nobody thought of death. Which death? Then, suddenly…

How did we lose somebody like Chris just when Owerri needed him most. Brilliant. Urbane. Dignified. A combination of good looks, brain, wisdom. Chai!

What a waste!! And I don’t mean that his life was a waste. He had achieved all there was to achieve. A family of lawyers – father, mother, children. Beautiful,  loyal and loving wife, successful children.  Academically, Chris was solid; had a couple of Master’s degrees and capped them with a doctorate degree, not honorary! Well respected in the society. Had friends that mattered. Yet, it is difficult not to describe Chris Asoluka’s sudden passing as a waste of everything good. How does one even refer to him in the past?

So, this other day, nervously, I went to see Nneka in the company of Agbaso and lovely wife, Robin. And even though there were a number of people there, the house seemed so empty without Chris. It was so strange. Eerie!  My eyes kept dashing from upstairs to downstairs in a failed expectation that Chris could just walk down donning his infectious smile. His absence was so conspicuous that even the dog in the house noticed. The poor white, fine dog kept looking at faces miserably. He would end up at Nneka’s feet, look up at her face, then walk away to Chris’ usual chair. Sit down. Look up and down the empty Chair. And make the rounds again. An emotional Nneka explained: “He is looking for Chris.”

Weep, Owerri, weep! First, it was Paschal Dozie. Now, it is Chris Asoluka at just 70 years. It is well with our souls. God’s will, we are always told. He just picks us up like that to come stay with Him.

Chris nne m. Nwoke oma. Ome nwanne. Okwuruoha! Okwuru Owere!! Peace. Peace. Peace. Good trip!!!

Obi is the Editor-in-Chief/CEO of The Source (Magazine).

 

 

Say whatever you like about Sule Lamido, but one thing is beyond dispute: he is one of Nigeria's most consistent politicians alive today. Since 1999, Lamido has stood firmly with the People's Democratic Party (PDP).

He has resisted every temptation and opportunity to defect, even when it seemed politically expedient to do so.

In 2013 and 2014, Lamido was part of a faction of the PDP that became known as the "nPDP." It was at odds with then President Goodluck Jonathan. Yet, when most members of the nPDP defected to the then-emerging All Progressives Congress (APC), he stayed put. 

To him, abandoning PDP simply because it was ailing was akin to abandoning a sick child he himself brought into the world.

Today, even as the PDP seems to be faltering and politicians scramble to jump ship to the APC, Lamido remains reliably loyal. 

Recently, I came across a fascinating graphic illustrating the convoluted, often confusing, trajectories of party defections by Nigeria's prominent political figures. If Lamido's name were placed there, his track would feature just one entry: PDP.

I first met Lamido in Jos in 1999 during the PDP presidential primary convention, where Olusegun Obasanjo emerged as the party’s flagbearer. I was then a young reporter with Weekly Trust, keenly observing Nigeria's unfolding democracy. 

Our paths crossed again in 2010 through my good friend Adagbo Onoja, Lamido’s Special Adviser on Media at the time. Lamido warmly invited me to Dutse to condole with me following my wife’s passing. 

On both occasions, I found him sharp-witted, insightful, and intellectually engaging.

I noticed the news buzzing about Lamido's newly launched autobiography, aptly titled "Being True to Myself." 

The title strikes me as profoundly fitting. Here’s a man whose political life embodies solid consistency and fidelity to his principles. 

Once the book hits Amazon, I plan to promptly order it, savor every page, and share my reflections in a detailed review.

Sule Lamido’s story deserves thoughtful attention, whether or not one shares his political stance or his choices while he was in government.

The last two weeks witnessed a gale of defections by politicians notably from the opposition Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) to the governing All Progressives Congress (APC). The high water mark of these defections were the fell swoop defections of the Governor of Delta State, Sheriff Oborevwori, and a former Governor of Delta State and the former Vice Presidential running mate of former Vice President Atiku Abubakar in the 2023 General Elections, Ifeanyi Okowa, and many of their supporters.

Defections in Nigerian politics are not new. Their antecedent can be traced to the First Republic when we operated a British-style parliamentary system. The phenomenon was referred to as “cross carpeting”. In spite of this unsavory history, defections have come to define and characterise the politics of the Fourth Republic which encompasses our return to democracy from 1999 up to the present.

Interestingly, the opposition PDP, which previously held sway until 2015, set this unseemly tone by co-opting bigwigs of the opposition on the watch of former Presidents Olusegun Obasanjo and Umaru Yar’Adua. Subsequently, the APC took this predilection to a new low: it enticed members of the opposition and others facing investigation for alleged corruption by dangling them carrots. A former chairperson of the APC enticed allegedly corrupt politicians by famously promising that they would be free of their sins if they joined his party.

The latest gale of defections is alleged to be informed, partly, by subtle blackmail and coercion. This allegation is lent credence when we consider that one of the high-profile defectors, until now, was being brow-beaten and hectored by one of the anti-corruption agencies.

It is correct to argue that these defectors have the right to do so if they choose. After all, our Constitution allows us to associate freely and in an untrammeled fashion. Former Vice President Atiku Abubakar, who is a serial defector and whose political standing is supposed to be vitiated by Okowa’s defection, underscored this in his recent remark.

If politicians have the right to defect or to choose which persons to relate with, our defections are informed largely by the need to jump onto a gravy train and a primitive desperation for power. This is best underlined by the languid rationalisation offered by former Governor Okowa. He claimed that in hindsight, he ought to have aligned with the interests of his geo-political South South. What took him so long to receive this revelation? Does he want us to seriously subscribe to the notion that he did not give his aspiration to be Vice President any forethought?

In other jurisdictions where politicians are informed by high-minded ideals and well considered principles, it is an uphill task to defect or make the kind of shameless three hundred and sixty degrees turn that our politicians make. In such serious climes, cogent and reasoned explanations will be offered to the citizens or voters. Or the politicians will resign their positions because the platforms they used to secure power were no longer tenable.

Even in the more redeeming Second Republic when there was a semblance of ideological politics, and the political parties were anchored on some modicum of principles, the parties, at the worst of times, were sundered or splintered into factions. The Peoples Redemption Party (PRP) and the Nigerian Peoples Party (NPP) were cases in point.

Today’s political parties, except a very few, are mere sucked eggs. They are bereft of belief, principles or moral compass. Worse, the returns on investment in politics in Nigeria is the highest of any enterprise, hence the desperation for office. This desperation is aimed, not at adding value to Nigerians but at feathering the nests of these politicians.

The fact that politicians can defect with ease, and without recourse to their supporters or voters, speaks eloquently either to a lack of respect for Nigerians or to an insult to their intelligence. It also betrays the fact that the overriding considerations for the typical Nigerian politician are power and the lavish perks of office.

If, as some of them glibly argue, that they are leaving their parties to the governing APC because they are dysfunctional or that they are riven with crises, is the APC, which refuge they desperately seek, a paragon? This is a party, like other defective ones, which does not lay premium on internal democracy. This is a party which scarcely holds meetings of its executive bodies. This is a party which gives its ticket to the highest bidder. And this is a party which is bereft of any succinct or lofty agenda other than state capture.

The APC is thus as guilty, if not more guilty, than the parties they are abandoning.

This writer’s conjecture is that those scrambling for the grace and embrace of the APC do so for two self-seeking reasons: To have their sins glossed over by a party desperate to remain in office and to seamlessly access its ticket in 2027. This may be informed by the calibration that the APC has some of the most pivotal institutions which will facilitate this possibility in its thrall.

But even this calculation may be preposterous or unattainable.

Besides, as the well-worn saying goes, only fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Those departing the APC may not be without blemish but they had compelling reasons, informed by the APC’s failings and peccadilloes, to leave. The APC, itself, rather than alleviate Nigeria’s woes, has worsened them and remains, at best clueless.

Additionally, a scramble which is not adroitly managed can only lead to an implosion. The spooning or dishing out of the gravy could be messy. This is not to mention the greed and vaulting ambition of those jumping onto the APC train.

These defections also take Nigerians for granted. The defectors, and those cajoling them, assume that Nigerians will forever be docile and that they would forbear the misrule and excesses of the APC in perpetuity. There is a word for it. It is called hubris. Hubris often comes before a catastrophic fall.

 

Dazang is a former director at the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC)

The 2025 Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination (UTME), conducted by the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB), sparked public outcry over widespread failures, leading to a rare press conference by the Registrar, Professor Is-haq Oloyede. His statement is notable for its candour and rhetorical flourish. However, in light of best practices in crisis communication, the address reveals commendable efforts alongside critical shortcomings.

One of the core tenets of crisis communication is the prompt and transparent acknowledgement of the issue. JAMB’s press statement scores highly on this front. The Registrar admits, unequivocally, that technical glitches occurred and that candidates were affected. This stands in contrast to the typical deflection or denial often seen in Nigerian public sector communication. “There are grounds for the complaints about our 2025 UTME results… This press conference is convened to unveil the bitter truth of our findings,” he said.

This openness lends credibility and helps contain reputational damage. However, the initial delay between the release of the results (May 9) and the press conference (May 14) allowed public distrust to fester, which reduced the effectiveness of the eventual admission.

While transparency is commendable, the Registrar’s tone at times veers into the overly rhetorical and self-congratulatory. Phrases like “we burn the midnight oil” or referencing spiritual maxims like “Man proposes, God disposes” dilute the severity of the situation. Rather than focusing on the affected candidates, the statement meanders through lengthy descriptions of quality assurance processes and organisational philosophy.

Best practices suggest using clear, concise, and empathetic language during crises. Overusing metaphors and anecdotes may come across as deflective or insincere. Audiences seek reassurance, not poetry.

ALSO READ: 19-year-old UTME candidate commit suicide after scoring 190 in JAMB

JAMB earns praise for the Registrar’s assumption of responsibility: “As Registrar of JAMB, I hold myself personally responsible… and I unreservedly apologise for it.”

This is a textbook move in crisis communication: own the failure, don’t blame others. It helps maintain public trust. However, the apology is somewhat undermined by attempts to shift focus to the robustness of the system and the incompetence of unnamed service providers. The emphasis on “just one of the two service providers” feels like a hedging tactic rather than full accountability.

Another best practice is to provide a factual and comprehensible explanation of what went wrong. Here, the Registrar offers significant technical detail: issues with shuffling options, patch errors, server misconfigurations, and distinctions between “LAG” and “KAD” operational zones.

However, while thorough, the explanation is not sufficiently user-centred. Many stakeholders, including students, parents, and the general public, may struggle to understand this technical jargon.

The core message could have been simplified: What went wrong? Where did it happen? How many were affected? What are you doing about it?
Excessive focus on internal systems and structure detracts from the human cost of the crisis and obstructs clarity. JAMB took decisive remedial steps: affected candidates will retake the exam; WAEC was contacted to address scheduling conflicts; affected parties will be notified through multiple channels.

This is a strong and practical response, demonstrating both empathy and action, which are key pillars of effective crisis resolution. The Registrar’s statement that JAMB will reschedule exams for 157 affected centres reflects a responsive approach. However, the solution would have resonated more if it had been presented earlier and more clearly in the speech. It appears near the end, following many paragraphs of justification.

Moreover, it’s unclear whether the Board will compensate or support the candidates beyond merely rescheduling. For a proper restorative approach, some gesture of support (e.g., transportation assistance, exam fee waiver, or psychosocial support) would demonstrate deeper care.

Involving respected stakeholders—educators, parents’ associations, tech experts, and former officials—adds legitimacy to the investigation. It shows that JAMB is not acting unilaterally and values transparency. Still, the Registrar misses the opportunity to mention whether any candidates themselves, or their guardians, were part of this review. Their voices, being the most directly affected, should have had a space in the resolution process.

In closing, the Registrar leans into a heartfelt apology and uses phrases like: “I AM SORRY to all Nigerians.” This statement, although made late in the address, strikes a powerful emotional note. The triad of “please,” “thank you,” and “I am sorry” adds a human touch to the message. It indicates that JAMB acknowledges the public’s dissatisfaction.

However, the apology would have carried more weight if placed earlier in the statement, rather than buried after technical justifications. Best crisis responses end with concrete commitments to prevent recurrence. The Registrar fails to outline clear steps for future reform. While the speech highlights existing quality assurance processes, it does not promise new oversight mechanisms, third-party audits, or changes to provider contracts.

A future-facing statement such as “We will implement X, Y, Z to ensure this never happens again” is notably absent. JAMB’s crisis communication during the 2025 UTME controversy was commendable in its openness but flawed in its delivery. By focusing more on public clarity and actionable commitments—and less on internal glorification—it could have strengthened trust during a time of institutional vulnerability. For future incidents, JAMB must prioritise speed, simplicity, and support over storytelling.

Onyima, a former Commissioner for Information in Anambra State, teaches at Paul University, Awka.

It is time to retire the old gatekeeping models. Not because we no longer need standards, but because we need higher ones. Standards that transcend degrees and titles and ask instead: What truth are you serving?

The future demands new journalism! One that is inclusive, interdisciplinary, intelligent, and intuitive. One that welcomes the nurse who podcasted her way through the pandemic, the lawyer who fact-checks electoral misinformation on X, and the farmer who documents the crisis of food security with stories, charts, and interviews. If they honour the truth, if they hold power to account, if they serve the public, they are journalists.

Nine years ago, we were on the verge of launching the NextGen Journalism programme. This initiative emerged from our examination of what mass communication students were being taught in the classroom, which revealed a significant gap that would hinder their competitiveness in the job market. To address this issue, we decided to refine the educational process. We gathered seven lecturers from different regions of the country who specialised in mass communication. They not only confirmed our observations but also helped us enhance our training modules, which were ultimately incorporated into the Campus Reporter App.

During our university tours to train campus journalism students, a few months after the design workshop with these lecturers, we visited a university in South-Eastern Nigeria. There, we trained students of the Mass Communication department and other disciplines, who were members of the campus journalism union, focusing on investigative journalism, fact-checking, and data journalism. Part way through the session, the Head of the Department paused our training — not out of protest, but out of curiosity. She asked, “Why are you teaching them things that their lecturers don’t know? Do you want them to question what they are learning in class?” She went on to request that some veteran journalists and lecturers join us for the second day of training, to create a balance between the practical concepts we were introducing and the curriculum.

When the lecturers observed our training methods and content, they requested that we extend similar training to them as well, noting a significant disconnect between classroom teachings and real-world professional practices.

These training sessions and additional mentoring efforts led to recommendations for incorporating Computer-Assisted Reporting into the Mass Communication curriculum, which were later approved by the National Universities Commission.

I provided the background above to present a case regarding online discussions about who qualifies as a journalist, what it takes to become one, and the distinctions between journalists, bloggers, and those I like referring to as infomediaries or infopreneurs. I decided to elaborate on my thoughts beyond the comment I made on a post by a colleague, which touched on what journalism in Nigeria should focus on, which really is going beyond just the questions of who is a journalist or what defines them.

One major argument that has been making the rounds is this: You can’t call yourself a journalist unless you’ve had some formal education, training, internship, or structured path that has prepared you for this. While I understand and even agree that training builds the knowledge and understanding of principles, philosophies, and ethics that guide any profession, I believe the method of acquiring those principles, whether by certification or otherwise, is not what defines one’s qualification. Especially in today’s world, it must be about output, about action, and most importantly, about the quality of what is produced.

In 2021, during Dataphyte’s university roadshow to several tertiary institutions, aimed at enhancing journalism training by incorporating data journalism, we received feedback from many faculty members. They pointed out that the concepts we were introducing were largely unfamiliar to them, except for the theoretical frameworks that supported them. For instance, some of the CAR (Computer-Assisted Reporting) trainers struggled with basic tools like spreadsheets for data entry and analysis. The tools we showcased were as challenging as giving bones to novices.

These experiences highlight a crucial truth: Journalism is evolving, but our educational systems have not kept pace. It also raises significant questions about how we train journalists, who we include in the training, and what qualifies a person to be considered as a journalist.

Moreover, if we consider the evolution of distance learning and continuing education. That was the  first real attempt to “hack” formal education by enabling people who couldn’t access university classrooms or afford formal schooling to still learn. The latter concept dwelt on the opportunities for anyone to pick up new skills or deepen existing ones at any age or stage.

Journalism is inherently multidisciplinary. Limiting it only to those with diplomas or degrees in journalism is short-sighted. Instead, we should mainstream the principles and ethics of journalism across all academic disciplines, opening the door for anyone committed to the public interest mission of journalism — be it informing, educating, entertaining, or holding power accountable.

So, here is the poser: If I go to a journalism school and after graduation I end up becoming a farmer and spend my life growing food, should I be called a journalist or a farmer? Now, consider someone who has been farming all their life. Maybe they’ve never stepped into a journalism classroom. But they start a media platform to educate others about farming, using podcasts, blogs, or video content. Their work is structured. They apply the journalistic essentials: the who, what, when, where, why, and how. So why shouldn’t they be called a journalist? Why dismiss them as “just a blogger”?

On the Ethics of Professional Comparison

Again, about the recurring statement, “you can’t call yourself a doctor or a lawyer without going to medical or law school. So why should journalism be different?” I believe that’s a flawed analogy.

This is because it confuses technical professions with behavioural and social disciplines. In Law, you must be licensed to represent others, but you can represent yourself in court. In policing, you have state actors, but you also have citizen-police or neighbourhood watches. These rely on shared knowledge of community rules.

While Law and Medicine are grounded in defined, codified knowledge systems, including diagnoses, legal precedents, biological imperatives; journalism is grounded in human behaviour, observation, narrative, and context. It is a behavioural science, not an exact science.

Similarly, journalism has always had room for the witness, the chronicler, the concerned citizen. Yes, journalism has its methods. Yes, it has its ethics. But it also has its citizens. In the same way a person can represent themselves in court without being a lawyer, or a community member can act as a first responder without being a police officer, a citizen can investigate, inform, and advocate without carrying the title of “journalist.” Because journalism is not the preserve of the privileged. It is a practice, measured not by the institution that conferred your badge, but by the integrity of your output.

The Real Crisis is Not Identity, It’s Instruction

Before I delve deeper into legalistic or certification debates, I want to reflect on something more fundamental, which I also mentioned in my comment to the colleague’s post: the quality of pedagogy, especially in a context like Nigeria.

When we launched the Campus Journalism Programme I referenced above, one of the first things we noticed was that students from disciplines like the social sciences or humanities — outside of journalism — were often producing better quality content than students formally studying journalism.

Our conclusion? Journalism is inherently multidisciplinary. Limiting it only to those with diplomas or degrees in journalism is short-sighted. Instead, we should mainstream the principles and ethics of journalism across all academic disciplines, opening the door for anyone committed to the public interest mission of journalism — be it informing, educating, entertaining, or holding power accountable.

This further propelled us to  expand our journalism experimentation into agriculture, health, extractive sector, security and environment. We called it “the five fingers.” What we found was clear: Professionals, whether from health, agriculture, or the environment could learn the ethics and tools of journalism and practice it meaningfully.

It is time to retire the old gatekeeping models. Not because we no longer need standards, but because we need higher ones. Standards that transcend degrees and titles and ask instead: What truth are you serving?… In a century when storytelling tools have changed, the information war is fought in megabytes and memes, and audiences are fragmented and cynical, we cannot afford pedagogies stuck in time.

Just as we were going about this, Aproko Doctor, a medical doctor, took to the airwaves and started using behaviour change techniques to educate citizens about their wellbeing and health-related lifestyle decisions. Today, that initiative has morphed into a healthtech company that provides information on wellness, lifestyle, and medicine, using AI. Call him what you will, but his work sits well within the development and interpretative journalism genre.

Henry Jenkins’ Convergence Culture provides a valuable perspective on the changing landscape of journalism, where traditional media merges with digital platforms, creating a participatory culture. Audiences transition from mere consumers to content creators, challenging the traditional gatekeeping roles in media and placing more value on the quality and impact of journalism, rather than formal credentials. In this evolving environment, the definition of a journalist is increasingly fluid.

In the context of AI, IoTs, and wearable technologies, Jenkins’ submission becomes even more relevant. These tools enable individuals to gather and share information in real time, further democratising journalism. The focus shifts from formal training to engaging audiences and fostering informed communities. Jenkins highlights that this participatory culture allows diverse voices to contribute to public discourse, encouraging a reevaluation of journalism that prioritises practice and impact over traditional qualifications.

A Final Word: Reimagining the Future

Let us be clear: Journalism is under siege. Not from bloggers or infopreneurs, but from irrelevance, poor pedagogy, and ethical drift. To protect journalism, we must stop asking who has the badge and start asking who is doing the work and what does it take to accentuate its forms, frames and functions.

The future demands new journalism! One that is inclusive, interdisciplinary, intelligent, and intuitive. One that welcomes the nurse who podcasted her way through the pandemic, the lawyer who fact-checks electoral misinformation on X, and the farmer who documents the crisis of food security with stories, charts, and interviews. If they honour the truth, if they hold power to account, if they serve the public, they are journalists.

It is time to retire the old gatekeeping models. Not because we no longer need standards, but because we need higher ones. Standards that transcend degrees and titles and ask instead: What truth are you serving?

In a century when storytelling tools have changed, the information war is fought in megabytes and memes, and audiences are fragmented and cynical, we cannot afford pedagogies stuck in time.

The journalist of today must be part data analyst, part psychologist, part anthropologist, part engineer of truth. And this evolution cannot be confined to those holding legacy credentials. It must be open-source, collaborative and dynamic.

Because in the end, journalism is not a degree. It is a discipline. Not a title, but a temperament. More so, journalism is not a profession you enter. It’s a principle you live by.

Joshua Olufemi is the founder of Dataphyte and Goloka Analytics.  He is passionate and committed to media innovation, management and revenue sustainability in Africa

 

Dear Justice Binta Nyako,

This is not a legal brief. This is not a media headline. This is not an accusation. This is a letter. A solemn, sober appeal to your spirit, to your integrity, and to the legacy you are still building.

You sit at a crossroads that most public servants will never truly understand—not just between two legal arguments, but between fear and fortitude. Between duty and destiny. Between the convenience of delay and the clarity of conscience.

 

You are in possession of a case that carries more than legal consequences—it carries national, spiritual, and generational weight. The matter of Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan is not only about what happened in the chamber of the Senate. It is about whether a chamber of law will affirm the dignity of truth.

And the question many are quietly asking—some aloud, some within—is this:

What is the worst they can do to you, if you do what is right?

 

Can they block your elevation to the Supreme Court? Possibly.

Can they transfer you to a quieter, less convenient judicial post? Perhaps.

Can they isolate you from their circles of comfort? Likely.

 

But at your stage, with your experience, your age, your understanding of life’s deeper currents—is any of that worth more than your conscience?

They may have power for today. But only truth travels into forever.

And robes, titles, appointments—these things do not outlive memory. But justice does.

 

Justice, real justice, lives beyond buildings and bulletproof gates. It is carried in the mouths of citizens, in the prayers of women who feel unseen, and in the notebooks of students who hope that, one day, the law will protect them too.

They may offer influence. They may offer distance from discomfort. But no one—no matter how connected—can offer you peace with your own name, if your name drifts from the truth.

Remember, Madam Justice, this is not your beginning. This is the phase where every word from your lips, every judgment from your gavel, becomes the story that others will tell when you are no longer there to tell it yourself.

 

And when your robe is folded away, and your seat becomes someone else’s—what story will be told in your absence? What legacy will outlive the salary, the titles, the ceremonial entrances? Will it be said that you stood, or that you stalled?

There are those who whisper that courage costs too much. But courage, when spent in service of truth, never runs out. It multiplies. It echoes. And it blesses generations to come.

Those who sit in power may change the rules, but they cannot change the records of time. Those who wish to bend your judgment may do so in shadows, but light always finds what shadows try to hide.

 

What stands before you is not simply a legal argument. It is a national temperature check. Will the judiciary affirm courage, or bow to convenience? Will the Constitution guide judgment, or will unseen hands shape rulings through unseen pressures?

We are not asking you to be political. In fact, we ask the opposite.

We ask you to be judicial.

 

We ask you to show that law is still sacred in Nigeria. That truth still has a home. That the robe still means something beyond ceremony.

You are no longer just one among many. This case, and what you do with it, may well be the most publicly remembered moment of your judicial career. And it will not be remembered for the technicalities or citations—but for the courage, or the absence of it.

You are a woman whose age grants you freedom from ambition, and whose experience grants you the wisdom to see through all political fog. You carry no need to climb ladders anymore. You are already above them. And from this height, you have one sacred opportunity left: to decide whether you will descend with the crowd—or rise above the noise.

 

Let them say what they will. Let them plot what they may.

But let it also be said, one day:

That Justice Binta Nyako, in her time, was not moved by fear.

 

That she did not flinch.

That she remembered what the robe was meant to symbolize.

That she ruled for the law—and not for the loud.

 

Let it be said not in newspapers, but in homes. In classrooms. In the silence of the mind where all true memory lives.

You are not doing this for Natasha.

You are doing it for your name.

 

For democracy.

For your Creator.

For Nigeria.

 

And yes—especially for those unborn daughters who will someday sit where you sit, and will wonder whether the law still bends to truth.

We are watching. Not with anger—but with hearts breaking under the weight of disbelief. With the trembling belief that perhaps—perhaps—this time, justice will not bow. That one judge, one voice, might still resist the tide.

And while we weep and wait, we remember—with grief and expectation—what your fellow justices once declared with courage.

 

We remember the year 2017. A year when a Federal High Court, unshaken by political heat, declared the suspension of Senator Ali Ndume not only unlawful but a betrayal of the Constitution. That judgment was not about favor. It was about fidelity. That ruling reminded Nigeria that no Senate chamber has the right to suspend a voice elected by the people. The judge that day saw beyond chairs and titles—he saw a constitutional violation bleeding in daylight.

And again, in 2018, it happened. A court stood again. This time in defense of Senator Ovie Omo-Agege. The judgment was firm: this suspension too, like the one before, was a misuse of legislative procedure. It was an overreach. It was unlawful. That court did not care for political winds. It did not pause for party lines. It heard only the voice of the law—and responded without trembling.

Now, we hear the excuse: that Senate internal rules justified defiance of court orders. That they could brush aside a judicial instruction because their Standing Orders allowed it.

 

But how, Justice Nyako? How can any internal Senate rule ever rise above the Constitution? How can any legislative manual supersede a court order from a constitutional judge? How can Nigeria claim to be a democracy—if its lawmakers obey their own preferences and defy the rule of law?

Justice Nyako, no. This cannot be accepted. Not again. Not now.

You know this. You have lived this. You carry the weight of decades in the legal system. You know that once the judiciary is made to kneel before politics, democracy becomes theatre.

 

Those rulings in 2017 and 2018 were not accidents. They were the cries of a legal system fighting to stand. They said clearly that legislative chambers are not above the law. They cannot suspend a Senator in darkness and call it order. They cannot hide injustice behind the veil of ‘procedure.’

And now, you have been handed this same flame.

You are not writing the first paragraph—but perhaps the last hope.

 

When you raise your gavel, raise it in the name of those rulings.

Raise it in defense of the Constitution.

Raise it for the daughters who will one day ask whether courts still had strength in their mother’s time.

 

Let your ruling say what fear cannot.

Let it whisper into the fabric of our nation: that justice is not an accessory, and law is not a tool of convenience.

Let it be your moment—not for applause—but for legacy.

 

With prayer. With grief. With tears still falling—because Nigeria is desperate for one judge who reminds the powerful: justice is not a strategy. It is a stand.

This writer does not know any of the individuals involved; the focus is solely on upholding democracy, truth, and justice.

Respectfully,


 

Did we have mass failure of candidates in the 2025 tertiary institutions’ qualifying examination or a deplorable conduct of the scheme by the JAMB? While it would take time and independent investigation to unravel candidates’ allegation of “wrong result”, the role of JAMB generally, presents another case study in the difficulty of making the Nigerian system work. No, the trouble with Nigeria is not simply a failure of leadership. It goes beyond leadership and indeed beyond political leadership. The judiciary, the legislature, the civil service, security agencies, health sector workers, universities, to mention only a few sides of public service are as dysfunctional and corrupt as various executive arms of government. What seems more characteristic of Nigeria’s public life is the unwillingness to uphold the common good. Personal, narrow and group interests are brought to override the larger societal interest in many decisions and execution of public programmes. Added to the vice of privatisation of policies is the near – absence of work ethics. We routinely chant “international best practices” without corresponding commitment to upholding standards. That is why service delivery is mediocre, bumpy and slow. That is why built infrastructures and facilities deteriorate in no time. As will be seen, JAMB’s controversial outing this year cannot be situated far from this background.

At no other time have we witnessed the barrage of outrage that greeted this year’s entrance exams. While in the last ten years, results for 2020 and 2021 were considered poor, they did not receive the widespread protests nor intensity of criticism trailing the current exercise. JAMB had announced release of the 2025 result on Friday, May 9, with emphasis on the 78 percent below 200 mark score. In 2020, under 200 point score was 79 percent; and climbed to 87 percent the following year 2021. Yet, reactions to those results were not as strong as with this year’s edition. Public response to result of the April 2025 higher institutions’ entry exam was largely dismissive. Significantly, candidates and or their parents rejected the low scores on their slips as incorrect. They did so with such confidence and resolve that could not be ignored. As at Monday, May 12, 2025, about 8400 candidates had reportedly filled the formal complaint form demanding access to their scripts. Typical of Nigerian government agency, JAMB leadership’s initial attitude to the outcry was playing the ostrich and deflecting the heart of the matter. Reacting after seventy – two hours of public outcry over the doubtful results, the Board’s spokesman appeared on Channels television on Monday, to read the stilted official line of candidates’ errors, omissions and challenges with digital demands as the issues. This technical slant featured prominently in a briefing by the Board’s registrar to announce the results on Friday, May 9, 2025. However, as the resolve to take legal steps to compel JAMB to transparently authenticate the disputed results gathered momentum, the Board finally buckled. By Monday afternoon, the JAMB leadership was forced to set aside it’s stereotype of candidate technical inadequacy to pledge a fact – finding review of the examination package.

While we await report of investigation into the doubtful results, it’s necessary to draw attention to other controversial steps by JAMB with hope that corrective action will be taken going forward. There were problems with the much advertised mock UTME test. Some candidates were posted outside their chosen States for the exam. Defending the arrangement, JAMB’s Public Communication Advisor, Fabian Benjamin told journalists that not all computer based centres were available for the mock exam. “If centres for mock in Abuja are filled up and there were available centres in Nassarawa State, candidates will be sent there” Vanguard, April 15, 2025 reported. This still does not absolve the admissions body from responsibility to place candidates where they registered. JAMB conducts two major exams in a calendar year. What does it do with the considerable time at it’s disposal? Is it asking too much to say the Board ought to confirm the availability of needed facilities before commencing sale of registration forms? The crux of the matter is that this oversight, this inconvenient relocation of candidates repeats every year. Where then is the supposed value of the mock exam as mirror towards successful main exam? Conducting hassles – minimal, mock exam which involves a tiny number of candidates, should not continue to be problematic.

 

Another instance of the Board’s wrong footing is the approved publication for those taking Literature. The novel chosen this year is The Lekki Headmaster by Kabir Alabi Garba. No problem about the literary quality of the work. But the print format of the publication is a big issue. The 63 page book, by standard setting, would run up to 90 pages. The text however, is in font size ten, instead of the preferred twelve point, making the print – run tiny. Additionally it is rendered in single line spacing with the result that the pages are tight. The compression poses problem of readability, a big challenge in an environment where electricity supply is not often assured. Exams by their very nature task the mental and attitudinal faculties of students. Saddling candidates with barely legible texts in the context of a very competitive exam is unhealthy. The selection of a visually deficient title as The Lekki Headmaster reflects poorly on JAMB. The decision calls into question the judgment that approved a publication with potential of unduly tasking candidates. Why didn’t JAMB insist on stress – free, readable specifications for the adopted texts? What was the Board doing all year round that it could not find a suitable, eyes – friendly publication? The impression that follows this scenario is that of a conscious attempt to cut costs. Unfortunately, this would be at the expense of some candidates’ performance. Any situation that tends to put the candidate at disadvantage should be avoided.

JAMB also got it wrong on the timeline for commencement of the exam. The slip admitting candidates for the exam clearly stated that they were to report at the various centres by 6:30am. The Labour Party 2023 presidential candidate, Mr Peter Obi, was therefore right in his indictful intervention on the matter. Obi’s faulting of the time schedule was justified. An official indication that a “compulsory” public event will kick off by 6:30am is invariably a recommendation for those concerned to be on the road much earlier. Ordinarily, that would pass for insensitivity on the part of the organisers. But to prescribe such time schedules under the prevailing insecurity situation in the country and for a programme involving youths and teenagers is reckless and dangerous. What attitude could be more uncaring of responsibility to society? In suggestive admission of the scandalous time fixture, JAMB spokespersons denied the 6: 30am directive, emphasising that the exam proper started at 8am. It was difficult deciding which was more ridiculous; the barefaced lies about not having communicated 6:30am to candidates or 8am exam crap; or the bungled opportunity of candour and apology. It was a low moment for the organisation. Did it not bother the management what candidates who began accreditation by 6:30am and exams by 7.00am would think of these deceptions? What lessons would these manipulations teach them about sense of public service in their country? Again, JAMB wanted to curtail expenditure by shrinking the number of days the exams would run. And again, this was to be achieved at the detriment of quality. The exam dash embarked upon by JAMB would explain the early morning schedules and exploitation of candidates whose computer systems developed problems. There were reportedly no redress if the system hung for thirty minutes or an hour. In effect, the exams in some respect, became a crash programme focused on completing a task rather than upholding set standards.

Mercifully, JAMB’s admission of responsibility for the controversial mass failure came as this essay was about being completed. JAMB Registrar Professor Ishaq Oloyede’s press conference of Wednesday, May 14, 2025, was a display of humanity and humility so rare in Nigeria’s public affairs. His sense of accountability was in sharp contrast to the officialdom of May 9 when the candidates and Nigerians were taken for granted. The regret expressed over result analysis errors came across as sincere and I think most Nigerians would accept the apology. Although some harm has been done, the opportunity of resit for affected candidates should mitigate the extent of loss. What remains is for the JAMB authorities to internalise the lessons surrounding this chain of events in achieving better performance subsequently. And let our public officials, in high and low offices, take inspiration from this hopefully born – again experience to make themselves servants of the people dedicated to the common interest.

There is, it seems, no limit to the extent the Federal Competition and Consumer Protection Commission, FCCPC, is prepared to go in its dance of shame with MultiChoice Nigeria, owners of DStv and GOtv. This time, it is wheedling the legally unwary by spinning an otherwise straightforward court ruling to wit: While the FCCPC has investigative powers under its establishing Act, it lacks the authority to fix or suspend prices unless specifically delegated by the President through a gazette.

It was an unambiguous, explicit, clear-cut and unequivocal judgement.

Of course, no such presidential instrument as required by law was presented to the court. And there couldn’t have been any because President Bola Tinubu was emphatic in disavowing price control during his first media chat on December 23, 2024. Asked if his government would consider travelling the “price control” route in order to mitigate the prevailing cost-of-living crunch, his answer was emphatic: “I don’t believe in price control. We just continue to supply the market, we work hard to supply the market.”

Justice James Omotoso of the Federal High Court, Abuja echoed the same sentiment last Thursday when he ruled that the FCCPC lacks the power to interfere in the pricing decisions of private companies in a free market economy. He held that under Section 88 of the Federal Competition and Consumer Protection Act, only the President can regulate prices.

But in affirming MultiChoice’s right to set prices for its goods and services, Justice Omotoso also dismissed the company’s suit against the regulator’s intervention in its recent subscription price hike, a fact that FCCPC is latching on in its dance of shame, spinning the judgement.

Justice Omotoso ruled that MultiChoice’s suit constituted an abuse of court process as a similar case was pending in Lagos, stressing that the firm should have pursued its arguments there. The fact that it failed to do so, the court held, rendered the filing in Abuja inappropriate. Simply put, Justice Omotoso struck out MultiChoice’s suit against the FCCPC only on procedural grounds.

What the Judge didn’t say, however, is the fact that not only is a similar proceeding pending in a Lagos court, indeed, as far back as 2015, two lawyers – Osasuyi Adebayo and Oluyinka Oyeniji – approached a Federal High Court sitting in Lagos to challenge MultiChoice’s right to increase prices and lost, with the court ruling that they were not obliged to use MultiChoice’s services.

That judgement had not been vacated when the FCCPC, in its desperation to ratchet up the pressure, sued MultiChoice and its Managing Director, John Ugbe, in March for allegedly violating regulatory directives, obstructing an ongoing inquiry and engaging in conduct deemed violations of the provisions of the Federal Competition and Consumer Protection Act (FCCPA) 2018. But the Judge recalled that in 2022, the Competition and Consumer Protection Tribunal, ruled that MultiChoice, a luxury, non-essential commodity provider, has a right to increase its prices while Nigerians have a choice to opt for other Pay TV platforms.

It is this clear-cut ruling that FCCPC is spinning, orchestrating media headlines such as, “Subscription Hike: FCCPC Floors MultiChoice” and “Court affirms Commission’s Power to Investigate Exploitation.” That is a deliberate misinterpretation of the judgement designed to deceive.

Now, what is the issue?

Citing inclement economic climate and surging operational costs, MultiChoice, on March 1, 2025, implemented a less than 25 per cent subscription price hike, which is far less than the inflationary pressures exacerbated by sundry volatilities in the economy. Yet, it is enough to put it in FCCPC’s crosshairs.

To be sure, Nigerians, facing significant economic challenges, are barely surviving and any tariff hike makes it worse. But businesses are not faring any better. Firms that hitherto posted robust balance sheets year-on-year are going bust, literally. Some that could no longer stand the heat fled. In 2023 alone, industry giants, including GSK, Sanofi-Aventis Nigeria Ltd, Unilever Nigeria Plc., Procter & Gamble Nigeria, and Bolt Food, bolted. A company facing higher costs must either pass some of them to consumers or degrade its services or go under. 

Standing between the devil and the deep blue sea, businesses that have decided to weather the storm rather than flee are hiking tariffs to remain afloat. MultiChoice is one of them. But it is not the only one. In January, the Nigerian Communications Commission, NCC, approved a 50 per cent tariff increase for telecommunications operators in Nigeria in order to address rising operational costs and ensure sustainability.

Long before those operators hitched a ride on the price hike wagon, many other companies were already on board with price adjustments in excess of 100 per cent. For instance, in 2024, Nigerian Breweries hiked prices of its products thrice. In 2023, StarTimes raised its rates twice. The first was by 33 per cent in May, while the second was by another 25 per cent in August. Streaming giants, Netflix, also announced a review of its prices with effect from April 1, 2024. Earlier, International Breweries, citing escalating cost of doing business, increased prices across its product portfolio. Another brewing giant, Guinness Nigeria Plc., also announced a new price regime.

Curiously, while these other organisations are given a free pass even with higher percentage hikes, MultiChoice is always singled out for sanction. So, why is it a crime for MultiChoice to charge market-reflective rates for its services when it is not for others?

If protecting consumers is truly FCCPC’s goal, then its enforcement must be consistent and fair. Singling out one player while turning a blind eye to others undermines the very principle of consumer protection. Worse, it erodes trust in the Commission. As Justice Omotosho rightly pointed out, not only is MultiChoice’s right to a fair hearing serially savaged, the Commission’s unholy antics smacks of selective enforcement.

For the avoidance of doubt, Justice Omotoso, in his well-considered judgement, raised many fundamental issues.

The court held, and rightly so, that a pay-tv is not an essential service and consumers can choose to subscribe or not or even switch providers by using free-to-air channels or stream on YouTube. Thus, no one is trapped because the market offers alternatives.

Justice Omotosho equally dismissed FCCPC’s claim that MultiChoice held a dominant market position, calling the argument untenable. For him, Nigeria being a free market economy means service providers such as MultiChoice have the right to set their prices.

More importantly, the Judge harped on a very fundamental issue, which tragically seems to be lost on FCCPC: attempts to fix prices by regulatory bodies could scare off investors and harm an already struggling economy.

MultiChoice has made significant contributions to Nigeria’s economy. From its humble beginnings of about 30 employees, the company presently sustains over 30,000 Nigerian jobs, directly and indirectly. While other companies are closing shop, exiting or downsizing, MultiChoice is still creating value – investing, hiring and stabilising the fragile economies of most families.

So, at a time of historic unemployment, does it make sense to hound one of the few remaining businesses that are standing by the country and its longsuffering people? Besides, more than any other business – public or private – MultiChoice plays a larger-than-life role in promoting the country’s cultures and projecting its soft power.

To be sure, the antagonism and campaign of calumny against MultiChoice is tantamount to success in a difficult business environment becoming a burden? MultiChoice is not a monopoly. It is just the most resilient competitor in a tough market. Not only that, those who talk about monopoly and absence of choice conveniently ignore the fact that the company offers tiered packages from N4,400 to N44,500, which means that there is a bouquet for every pocket and no one is forced to buy what he cannot afford.

It is disingenuous to equate success to monopoly. Truth be told, by sheer dint of hard work, MultiChoice became the dominant actor in the industry because over the years, rather than quitting, it stayed put to build infrastructure, content pipelines, measures that ultimately engendered trust and patronage. Any other company that does same will get the same result. Market dominance is earned, not gifted.

What Justice Omotoso’s ruling exposes is FCCPC’s regulatory overreach in its dealings with MultiChoice with an unambiguous message: it is high time this dance of shame stopped. MultiChoice should be allowed to do its business within the ambit of the law without let or hindrance.