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Tinubu, Yusuph Olaniyonu and hunger protest

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Stop, CBN! The baby is in the bathwater
Tunde Odesola

Tinubu, Yusuph Olaniyonu and hunger protest

Tunde Odesola

(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, August 9, 2024)

Returning home from work on a humid evening in 2016, I asked my children their thoughts about visiting America. They took their gaze away from the TV, searched my eyes for seriousness, smiled doubtfully and returned their gaze to the TV, exhibiting an air of ‘we have outgrown your pranks, this old man’. America ko, Africa ni.

“OK, guys,” I said deadpan, “We’re going to the US Embassy next week.” That should break the ice, so I thought, as I watched their faces light up suddenly, all speaking about the same time.

A voice said, “Let’s go there, Baba T!” Another, whose legs couldn’t reach the pedals of a car, said, “I’ll drive all of you to Lagos.” Yet another said, “I will issue all of you visas, you don’t need to go to the embassy.” Laughter. Voices. “You all don’t need visas to America when I’ll fly the plane,” a voice said. They all laughed at their father.

How many children does this man have, you must be wondering. Don’t wander too far; destined is the head that picks the choicest meat from the pot – orí la fí ń mú eran lawo. Shoot your shot at the orange tree – none, one, two or more oranges may drop. I shot my shot and more than one orange dropped into my arms. I’m not an eku eda, the proliferating house rat. My wife and I wanted two, God multiplied the two. Anyway, I admit children are gifts from God, lest any man should boast about his testosterone.

So, to Lagos we went from Osogbo, spending the night at grandpa’s house in Lagos and heading to the embassy a day after. I needn’t apply for a visa because I had one and had just returned from the US the year before. It was my Gang I needed visas for.

We went through security protocols at the embassy and in less than five minutes we were out of the embassy with visas in the kitty.

Weeks later, I booked tickets for my Gang and I but I didn’t inform them until a couple of days before departure. I always enjoy surprises and suspense.

On the way to the airport, my children were still suspicious of me, thinking the ‘US trip’ was one of my jokes. They were probably looking for me to burst out laughing, saying, “America ko, Africa ni, let’s return home, jare! I was only kidding you guys.”

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They struggled to bottle their excitement when we headed towards the plane, pinching themselves to wake up from the dream. They burst into stifled joy when the plane taxied off the tarmac, airborne. They locked hands, whispered silently among themselves as excited children do, and prayed not to be woken from dreamland. It was their first time on a plane.

We landed in America to the cold embrace of winter. Way into our vacation, my younger brother, Niyi, and a family friend, Benjamin Orusara and his wife, Sola, advised me to leave the kids behind to continue their schooling in the US. “Leave them? How? How much is school fees here,” I asked. “It’s free and compulsory for elementary, middle and high schools,” they told me. They added that it’s a jailable offence for parents or guardians not to send their children or wards to school in America. It was easy to reach a decision because their mother was already holidaying in the US, ahead of our visit.

So, I requested their report cards to be sent to me from Nigeria. Report cards sent, we all headed to the registration centre. This was before the commencement of the academic year. The only questions the registration officials asked were their names, ages and addresses, nothing more. The officials knew they were new to the country but it didn’t matter. Education was all that mattered.

The registration officials were surprised to see the quantity and quality of subjects my children had done in Nigeria, hinting that the subjects were high for their ages. They said I could move them up to their next classes to match up with their level of knowledge but I said they should continue in the classes fit for their ages.

First day in school, my Gang returned home with personalised laptops with their names ingrained on them along with books and other learning materials. You surely can’t get that in any public back home in Nigeria. They also brought home chargers for their laptops and syllabi. If your parents can’t afford stationeries, you don’t have to worry, there are papers, erasers, calculators, pencils, pens, markers, crayons, photocopiers and printers, textbooks, highlighters, lab coats, goggles etc in class for students to use.

In middle school, Nigeria’s equivalent of primary school, pupils in the school club called Green Power built a race car which they used in competing in a car race involving other primary schools. It’s not a pangolo or cardboard car. It’s a real car with big tyres and engines akin to Formula One cars. One of my Gang members was a member of the club and I witnessed one such competition as a parent. The Green Power club is also available in High School, where they build more sophisticated cars and gadgets.

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The middle school also owns an 18-wheeler trailer used by its music band to convey musical equipment to music shows and competitions. Imagine!

On a calm weekend in 2019, my Gang told me to take them out to a skating park called Insanity. It wasn’t their first time at the park, more so, they had been skating way back in Osogbo. So, I felt no worries about taking them to the park. But going by the name of the park, I should have known better. A terrible fall and everything went insane.

Blood splattered everywhere on the rink, the mouth was badly impacted, and teeth were missing. It was unsightly. I gathered my boy in my arms, took him to the bathroom, and washed him up, but the blood didn’t stop. My Gang was in disarray.

But Prof, as his nickname goes, showed uncommon courage and stoicism. He didn’t cry, he was calm and coherent, holding rolls and rolls of paper towels to his bleeding mouth.

I should’ve called 911 and accident and emergency rescue officials, firefighters and the police would have flooded the premises in less than five minutes.

At that time, I didn’t know there was a Fire Service Department directly opposite the skating park which was beside the county’s police station. I was a confused J-J-C. When my wife saw the injury, she went berserk.

I called my church shepherd, Pastor Peter Oyediran, a registered nurse. He told me to bring Prof to the city hospital. Like a deer escaping from the ambush of lions, I throttled down to the hospital, mindful that I stood being pulled over and fined for speeding. May God bless Pastor Oyediran, who despite just getting off work when I called him, still came to the hospital with us.

The city hospital, which is equivalent to Nigeria’s General Hospital, was like a skyscraper made of green glass and gold. As we stepped feet on the premises, courteous and well-dressed medical officials took over. They put Prof on a stretcher and wheeled him away after getting his name, age and my phone number.

They put him on a bed in an examination room fitted with the best gadgets known to medicine. One by one, they explained to me that they were going to run a comprehensive check to see if there was any damage to his eyes, ears, brain, nose, skull etc before zeroing down on the primary place of trauma, the mouth. They said damage to any organ in the skull might need to be treated first.

I breathe the breath which dying Nollywood actors on sickbeds breathe to signify the end of life – uhnnnnnn, thinking if I was sold, the money I would fetch wouldn’t be enough to offset the hospital bills.

Doctors, nurses and various medical officials were smiling at me as they explained in detail each procedure they were doing. Before carrying out any procedure, they explained to Prof, too and got his consent just as they got mine. I was smiling the kind of smile kidnap victims smile when kidnappers cracked a joke.

As treatment was ongoing, two medical officials came to me and gave me a form to fill out. The form was a feedback mechanism designed to know what the patient or patient’s parent feels about the quality of medicare provided by the hospital.

Investigations completed, Prof was given the all-clear, leaving us with the teeth and mouth – which were treated. The hospital then referred us to a children’s dental hospital.

Before leaving the county hospital after more than two hours, I lumbered to the reception to collect the medical bill which I expected to send me into bankruptcy and slavery. The receptionist flashed me a smile and asked Prof how he was doing. I wrinkled my face in a smile, thinking ‘iku de!’. She said, “You can go.” I asked, “Go where?” thinking payment was done at another department. “You can go home, it’s free.”

I turned to Prof, “Let’s go, boy.” Alas, I found my voice. We made our way to the parking lot, with me praying for the receptionist not to call us back, saying, ‘I’m sorry, it’s a case of mistaken identity. You guys need to pay.’

We went back home and I fell on my face, thanking God. Prof later got treatment from the periodontist, who referred us to a private endodontist, whom we also visited for treatment. His teeth are now properly healed.

A few days ago, a former Editor of ThisDay newspaper and former Ogun State Commissioner for Information, Alhaji Yusuph Olaniyonu, wrote an article titled, “At 58, God has given me a second chance,” in which he narrated how an elective surgery in a government hospital nearly sent him to an early grave.

Olaniyonu wrote, “It all started on 19 February (2024) when I drove myself into a government hospital in Abuja for an elective surgery. The surgery itself was meant to last for a few minutes and I should return home not later than two days thereafter. That was what I was told. But that was not what happened.

“Since that fateful Monday morning, I have gone into and out of the surgical theatre nine times for six major operations and three minor procedures. I have spent six days in the Intensive Care Unit, surviving on oxygen and relieving myself through catheters. I have become totally dependent on others for the performance of even such personal functions as cleaning myself. I have lost 20 kilogrammes in five months and was reduced to a mere sack of bones. I have lost the use of my limbs and, like a toddler, I had to learn to walk again. I have spent millions of naira and thousands of dollars of my own and other people’s money. I have travelled hundreds of kilometres to find help. I have reached the very bottom of despair itself, and I had made plans for my own burial. But somehow, I am still alive.”

Like countless Nigerians who have been sent to untimely deaths, Olaniyonu was almost killed by a consultant urologist who misdiagnosed and mistreated a disease as common as a non-malignant prostate. Only heavens know what Mr Consultant would be teaching medical students and how many patients he had maimed and killed.

It was to Egypt Olaniyonu ran, where friendly and dedicated medical staff retied the thread of his life which hung in the balance, contrary to the unfriendly and shoddy treatment he received back home after paying exorbitant fees. Nigeria would have lost Olaniyonu, one of the nation’s finest journalists, to professional sloppiness, and nothing would have happened.

There is too much blood on the hands of the country’s medical professionals and it’s high time cases of negligence were brought to book.

Alhaji Olaniyonu, this case should not be papered over, please. The consultant urologist must be brought to book. If you, as a journalist and lawyer, do not ensure justice, who else would? Is it the uncountable okada riders and poor accident victims that would?

Alhaji, just imagine yourself in a bamboo casket, wrapped in white cloth, tied up, and lowered into a grave. From the grave, look at your beautiful wife, Odunayo, and your sons, Oladapo, Oladipo and Oladepo, all wearing black, and doing dust-to-dust. Is that how all your earthly ‘là á là, kò ó kò, jà án jà án’ would’ve come to an end through the shoddiness of one consultant?

I agree that humans came from God and unto Him we shall return – inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un – but the Quranic injunction does not say anyone should be sent to an early grave by sloppiness.

I brought out the educational and medical architectures available to a fresh immigrant family like mine in the US to show that our beloved country, Nigeria, is nowhere on the map of countries where leadership works democracy to provide abundant life for the good of the majority.

There’s nothing that fuels the ongoing national protest against bad governance than the glaring fact that a majority of the Nigerian populace has been reduced to slaves and scavengers in a country, whose resources have perpetually been cornered by subsequent leaderships that are richer than the Nigerian state.

I think the ongoing protest against hunger should continue because the Bola Tinubu administration understands the badness and goodness of protest. Tinubu himself led many protests against bad governance in the past. He knows protest is a landmine that could lead to anywhere and anything.

Nigerians don’t expect Tinubu to turn Nigeria into the US or Egypt but he should please leave it the way General Muhammadu Buhari left it in the throes of death, Nigeria should not die in Tinubu’s hands, please.

Asiwaju, you claim to be the builder of modern Lagos, have the building materials you used in building Lagos finished ni?

Please, do something, omo Olodo Ide, Nigeria is collapsing.

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

X: @Tunde_Odesola

Tinubu, Yusuph Olaniyonu and hunger protest

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Opinion

OPINION: Who Still Needs the NYSC? — By Bola Bolawole

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Bola Bolawole

OPINION: Who Still Needs the NYSC? — By Bola Bolawole

The recent abduction of National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) members travelling from Ibadan, Oyo State, to orientation camps in the South-East and South-South has once again raised a difficult question: does Nigeria still need the NYSC in its present form?

The question is not new, but the latest incident has made it more urgent.

On October 1, two buses conveying NYSC members and other passengers from Ibadan to Uyo, Akwa Ibom State, and Bende, Abia State, were attacked by suspected armed men in Imo State. The police subsequently reported that 10 victims had been rescued, while efforts continued to establish the exact number of people still in captivity.

If the abducted young Nigerians travelled from Ibadan, some of them could be from Oyo and neighbouring South-West states, although victims may also have come from other parts of the country. The incident should therefore concern Nigerians collectively.

Governors whose citizens are affected should not leave the matter entirely to the Federal Government. Even where they do not directly control the police or military operations, they can support affected families, communicate with them and provide whatever assistance falls within their powers.

Questions over police handling

There are also serious questions about how information concerning the operation was handled.

The Imo State Commissioner of Police, CP Audu Bosso, disclosed that security operatives had located the kidnappers’ camp but were unable to immediately advance because intelligence indicated that the area had been mined with explosives. He also spoke about the use of drones and preparations for further operations.

That raises an important question about the disclosure of sensitive operational information while a rescue operation is still ongoing.

Security agencies must communicate with the public, but such communication should not inadvertently expose operational strategies, locations or vulnerabilities that could assist criminals.

The media, too, must exercise responsibility. The desire to break news or attract traffic should never override the safety of victims or security personnel.

Why was NYSC established?

The National Youth Service Corps was established by Decree No. 24 of May 22, 1973, following the Nigerian Civil War.

According to the NYSC, the scheme was created to promote national unity and develop common ties among Nigerian youths. Its broader purpose was to encourage young Nigerians to serve communities outside their immediate cultural and geographical environments.

The idea was understandable.

Nigeria had just emerged from a devastating civil war. The wounds were still fresh, distrust among different sections of the country was considerable, and there was an urgent need to rebuild bridges.

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The NYSC was therefore conceived as an instrument of reconciliation, integration and national development.

But more than five decades later, we must ask whether the circumstances that gave birth to the scheme still exist in the same form — and whether the scheme is achieving its original objectives.

Fifty-three years later, what has changed?

The NYSC has undoubtedly produced benefits.

Millions of young Nigerians have lived and worked outside their home states, interacted with people from different ethnic and religious backgrounds and contributed to communities through their primary assignments and community development projects.

For many Nigerians, NYSC remains one of the few institutions where young people from different parts of the country experience Nigeria beyond their immediate environments.

But the challenges have also become enormous.

Over the years, corps members have died in road accidents while travelling to their places of primary assignment or during their service year. More recently, insecurity, terrorism, banditry and kidnapping have introduced an additional and frightening dimension to the risks confronting young Nigerians serving their country.

The latest abduction therefore forces us to ask:

For how long should young graduates be compelled to travel long distances and serve in places where their safety cannot be guaranteed?

And more importantly:

Is the present structure of the NYSC still the best way to promote national unity?

Has the NYSC achieved its central objective?

After more than five decades of the NYSC, Nigeria continues to struggle with ethnic suspicion, regional grievances and demands for greater autonomy or restructuring.

The emergence of groups such as MASSOB and IPOB in the South-East, alongside various self-determination and restructuring movements in other parts of the country, suggests that the challenge of national cohesion has not disappeared.

The South-West, too, has witnessed the emergence of different groups advocating varying forms of restructuring and self-determination.

These developments do not necessarily mean that the NYSC has failed. National integration is far more complicated than a single government programme.

But they should compel policymakers to examine whether the original model remains adequate for today’s Nigeria.

Reform rather than sentiment

The answer may not necessarily be to abolish the NYSC overnight.

There may be a strong case for fundamentally reforming it.

A modern national service programme could place greater emphasis on skills acquisition, technology, entrepreneurship, healthcare, education, disaster response and community development.

The compulsory nationwide posting system could also be reviewed, particularly where security conditions make deployment dangerous.

Nigeria should not continue doing something simply because it has been done for 53 years.

At the same time, we should not discard an institution simply because it has weaknesses. The real question should be: what works, what no longer works, and what should replace it?

Time to rethink government agencies

The NYSC debate should also be part of a broader conversation about the cost and effectiveness of government institutions.

Nigeria has numerous Ministries, Departments and Agencies whose functions sometimes overlap, while some institutions have become largely ineffective.

The Federal Government should therefore revisit recommendations on restructuring and rationalising government agencies, including the Oronsaye reforms.

The objective should not merely be cutting institutions for the sake of cutting them. It should be about creating a leaner, more efficient government that delivers better services to Nigerians.

Who still needs the NYSC?

That is ultimately the question.

The NYSC was born out of the circumstances of post-Civil War Nigeria. Its founders wanted young Nigerians to develop common bonds and a stronger sense of national identity. Those objectives remain desirable.

But the Nigeria of 2026 is not the Nigeria of 1973.

Our security challenges are different. Our population is different. Our economy is different. Our young people face different challenges. Technology has transformed communication and interaction.

The government must therefore have the courage to ask whether the NYSC should continue unchanged, be radically reformed, or eventually replaced with a more effective national service framework.

What we cannot continue to do is expose young Nigerians to avoidable danger simply because a policy was created more than half a century ago.

National unity is important. But so is the safety and dignity of the young Nigerians who are expected to serve the nation.

Bola Bolawole, a former Editor of PUNCH Newspapers, Chairman of its Editorial Board and Deputy Editor-in-Chief, writes columns for Nigerian newspapers.

Source note: The opinion is adapted for Newstrends.ng from Bola Bolawole’s October 7, 2026 article. The NYSC’s official account confirms that the scheme was established by Decree No. 24 of May 22, 1973, principally to promote national unity and common ties among Nigerian youths.

OPINION: Who Still Needs the NYSC? — By Bola Bolawole

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Opinion

Nigeria — My Country of Destiny

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Nigeria — My Country of Destiny
Mrs Bolatito Ajibode

Nigeria — My Country of Destiny

A speech delivered by Mrs Bolatito Ajibode, Convener, Independence Day Fiesta, at Landmark Events Centre, to mark Nigeria’s 66th Independence Anniversary

Nigeria is my country of destiny.

It is not a coincidence that I was born here. God had me in mind when He blessed this land.

It is not a coincidence that this prosperous land is populated by people of different cultures; hence, our tongues and tribes differ. We call it PRODIVA — Prosperity in Our Diversity.

The Lord finished the work of creation and should be praised for loading us with the benefits of arable soil, mineral-rich land, solid minerals, oil and gas, and a market of over 200 million people. Many are yearning for these endowments and have come to our land to explore and exploit them.

Our endowments are beckoning on us for exploration. The few who have taken up the challenge, like Dangote, are smiling to the bank by converting our huge deposits of limestone into cement and refining our crude oil into petroleum products. He has taken Nigeria to the global stage, and we are all proud of him as our brother.

We, however, need more Dangotes.

Last year, we had our maiden edition at Muri Okunola Park, where we challenged ourselves to do more by building a side hustle in addition to our 9-to-5 jobs.

We urged ourselves to:

  1. Start small from where we are and grow.
  2. Explore the vast resources of this country to create wealth.

I am happy to say that we have positive testimonies from those who have started their side hustles, making extra income and contributing to the total income of Nigeria.

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Having laid a solid foundation last year, our goal this year is to cement it and contribute, individually and collectively, to the per capita income of Nigeria.

The desired growth of Nigeria can only come as we add value to the wealth of the nation in our own little corners.

That is the only variable we can control because the other variable — population — is outside our control.

We are typically excited about our young population and proudly rejoice that Nigeria is projected to become one of the five most populous countries in the world by 2050.

The question we need to ask is: How do we house, feed and clothe this growing population?

Certainly, having a young population is good, but it can also become an easy path to poverty and insecurity if we are not deliberate about growing national wealth and baking a bigger national cake.

Yes, our business environment is tough and unstructured. It raises the entry barrier because many are not ready to weather the storm. Those who are able to stay and thrive in this tough business environment have overcome the challenges, and some of them are here with us today.

A deep appreciation to our keynote speaker, Mrs Chinwe Ezenwa, the Managing Director of Lee Look Bags, who has been in the business of Ankara and Aso-Oke fabric bags for four decades. We look forward to drinking from her fountain of knowledge this morning.

Also in our midst is our brother, Mr Ola Awakan, the Director-General of the Nigerian Tourism Development Authority, who has used literature and poetry to deliver compelling indigenous stories from the heart. He has come with his team all the way from Abuja to honour us.

During the panel session today, we will hear the success stories of our panelists and also interact with them during the networking session.

In line with the theme of the year, we would like us to consider:

  • Low-hanging fruits in our business environment;
  • Low-technology business ideas;
  • Businesses that are authentic and unique to us;
  • Commercialising our indigenous values and ideas in food, clothing, arts and drama.

We need to own and dominate this space!

Today, we have in this room great men and women who have taken these indigenous values and ideas to the global stage.

They will share their PRODIVA stories and inspire us.

I believe their insightful stories will also challenge the invited students from Yaba College of Technology, the University of Lagos and Lagos State University.

The idea is to catch them young. 😍

Please note: the Independence Day Fiesta is not about storytelling alone. We are also going to have fun.

We have about four performances, including spoken-word poetry, drama, drumming, music performances and Naija music with good lyrics.

We will also break out for lunch to enjoy various Naija cuisines.

It is my prayer that, at the end of the session, we will all have our takeaways and begin to water the seed of prosperity in our diversity.

Once again, thank you for coming. Please relax and have fun.

Nigeria — My Country of Destiny

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Fifty Years After “Africa Has Come of Age”: A Personal Reflection on Nigeria’s Silence at the United Nations

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United Nations Security Council (UNSC)

Fifty Years After “Africa Has Come of Age”: A Personal Reflection on Nigeria’s Silence at the United Nations

By Disu Kamor, Executive Chairman, Muslim Public Affairs Centre (MPAC)

There are moments when a nation’s silence says more than its speeches. Last week at the United Nations was one of them. For years, I have introduced myself in rooms around the world as a Nigerian, and I have done so with a certain inherited pride. Not pride in our perfection, but pride in our posture. We were the country that once told the world, at great cost to itself, where it stood. We were the country that severed ties, nationalised oil companies, lost contracts and risked isolation because we believed that freedom in Southern Africa and freedom in Palestine were not foreign causes, but our own.

So when the organisation I chair, the Muslim Public Affairs Centre, issued a press release last week asking why Nigeria’s address to the 81st United Nations General Assembly could not find a single sentence for Palestine, I felt it personally, not just institutionally. Because twelve months earlier, at UNGA 80, Nigeria had not whispered. It had spoken, and spoken clearly. It spoke about the devastation in Gaza. It condemned violence and aggression against innocent civilians. It looked the world in the eye and declared, “without stuttering and without doubt,” that a two-state solution remained the path to lasting peace, and that the people of Palestine are not collateral damage but human beings, equal in worth, entitled to the same freedoms we take for granted. MPAC’s release laid out the record: last year’s clarity, this year’s erasure, the Security Cooperation Agreement with Israel signed quietly in August 2025 in between, the Joint Commission, the intelligence deals, and our three demands — join South Africa’s genocide case at the ICJ, make security cooperation conditional on accountability, and next time nations walk out when Netanyahu speaks, let Nigeria walk with them. I stand behind every word.

But this article is not that press release. This is what that silence has weighed on me as a Nigerian who was raised on the memory of a different Nigeria, and who fears we are now spending down a moral inheritance we did not earn, and will struggle to recover once it is gone.

Fifty years ago this January, a young Nigerian Head of State stood before his fellow African leaders in Addis Ababa and said four words that outlived him by half a century. General Murtala Mohammed, addressing an Extraordinary Session of the Organisation of African Unity convened to decide where Africa would stand on Angola’s liberation, rejected a letter from the American government pressuring Nigeria to side with apartheid South Africa. “Africa has come of age,” he told them. Thirty-four days later, he was dead, assassinated in a coup attempt, having spent the last months of his life turning that declaration into policy rather than leaving it as a line for historians to admire.

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This year, the fiftieth anniversary of that declaration, I watched Nigeria’s national statement at the United Nations General Assembly run to twenty-four paragraphs — Security Council reform, climate finance, artificial intelligence, debt architecture, counter-terrorism in the Sahel — without once naming Gaza, or Palestine, or the two-state solution Nigeria itself had insisted on just a year before. I do not think that is a small thing. I think it is a rupture. I grew up understanding Nigeria as a country that put its resources where its convictions were, not merely its rhetoric. This is not nostalgia. It is documented history, and it deserves to be told again because too few Nigerians under fifty have ever been taught it.

Under Murtala and his successor, Olusegun Obasanjo, Nigeria funnelled oil revenue to liberation movements across the continent — the MPLA in Angola, ZANU and ZAPU in Zimbabwe, the ANC and PAC in South Africa, SWAPO in Namibia. Nigeria led the rejection of South Africa’s Bantustan system at the UN General Assembly in 1975 and donated $500,000 to SWAPO, granting it office space in Lagos. When Obasanjo’s government discovered that Nigerian crude, sold through British Petroleum, was indirectly reaching apartheid South Africa’s refineries, Nigeria nationalised BP’s entire Nigerian operation in 1979 rather than let its oil serve a racist regime even by accident. When Margaret Thatcher’s government moved to ease sanctions on Rhodesia, Obasanjo pulled British contracts from Lagos’s Apapa port and threatened to leave the Commonwealth, pressure credited with contributing to Robert Mugabe’s election victory in 1980. Nigeria went on to chair the UN’s Special Committee Against Apartheid until 1994.

And on Palestine specifically, Nigeria did not merely speak. It paid a real, sustained cost. When the Yom Kippur War broke out in 1973, Nigeria, in solidarity with the Organisation of African Unity and the Arab world, severed diplomatic relations with Israel entirely. That severance held for nearly two decades, across multiple changes of government, before ties were restored in 1992. An entire generation of Nigerian diplomats came of age in a country that had decided that Palestinian self-determination was worth nineteen years of severed ties.

That history is what makes this year’s silence so difficult to bear, because what Nigeria was silent about is not abstract. It is a living catastrophe now in its eighth decade. It began with the Nakba in 1948, when some 750,000 Palestinians were expelled from their homes during the creation of the State of Israel. What followed in 1967, after the Six-Day War, was a military occupation of the West Bank, including East Jerusalem, and the Gaza Strip that has never ended. For fifty-eight years, Palestinians in those territories have lived under military law while Israeli settlers in the very same land live under civil law, their settlements expanding, their roads segregated, their movement controlled by checkpoints and walls. In July 2024, the International Court of Justice declared that this occupation itself is unlawful, that it amounts to racial segregation and apartheid, and that it must end.

Within that occupation, violence has never been episodic. Palestinians remember Deir Yassin and Tantura in 1948, Khan Younis and Rafah in 1956, Sabra and Shatila in 1982, when Israeli forces encircled Palestinian refugee camps in Beirut while allied militias slaughtered thousands, the Ibrahimi Mosque in Hebron in 1994, Jenin in 2002, and the successive wars on Gaza in 2008-09, 2012, 2014 and 2021, each leaving thousands dead, overwhelmingly civilian.

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But what has happened in the last three years has no parallel. Since October 2023, Gaza has endured a war that UN agencies and courts now describe in terms of genocide. In less than three years, more than 65,000 Palestinians have been killed, the majority women and children, and more than 120,000 wounded. Almost the entire population of 2.3 million has been forcibly displaced, many ten times over. The United Nations has documented the systematic destruction of hospitals, of every university in Gaza, of schools sheltering displaced families, of mosques, churches, bakeries and water plants. UN experts, Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch and Israeli human rights groups have documented the blocking of food, water, medicine and fuel as a weapon of war. It is this record that led South Africa to bring its case under the Genocide Convention to the International Court of Justice in December 2023.

And for the first time, accusation has moved to indictment. On November 21, 2024, the International Criminal Court issued arrest warrants for Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and former Defence Minister Yoav Gallant for war crimes and crimes against humanity, including using starvation as a method of warfare, murder, persecution and intentionally directing attacks against civilians. The sitting prime minister of a state with which our government signed a Security Cooperation Agreement in August 2025 is now wanted in 125 member states.

I cannot reconcile the Nigeria under Murtala and Obasanjo with the one that could not find a single sentence for Palestine this year while, rather unbothered, it got busy signing discreet pacts and agreements with an apartheid and genocidal state as recently as March 2026. I cannot reconcile it with the fact that when dozens of nations walked out of the General Assembly hall this year as Netanyahu spoke, Nigeria’s delegation remained seated.

And it was not just any walkout. When the footage came out, it was Africa itself that stood up. South Africa, Senegal, Botswana, Uganda, Namibia, Kenya, Ghana, Angola, Niger, Madagascar, Mozambique, Chad, Central African Republic, Liberia, Eritrea, Lesotho, Eswatini, Equatorial Guinea, both Congos — the Republic of the Congo and the Democratic Republic of the Congo — were among the African countries that walked out or refused to sit through that speech. These are not marginal states. They include countries that fought apartheid alongside us, countries we trained, funded and housed. If Africa has come of age, as Murtala said fifty years ago, then Africa showed it last week. Nigeria, the country that once taught the continent how to stand, chose to remain seated.

I do not say this to manufacture hostility toward any state. Murtala’s generation did not act out of hostility either. They acted out of principle, and they paid whatever price principle demanded. What troubles me is the gap between the courage that generation had when the cost was real, and the caution my generation has settled for now that the cost is merely inconvenient. MPAC’s press release said what needed to be said institutionally. But I wanted to say this as one Nigerian to others: I was raised on the memory of a country that told the most powerful nation on earth it would no longer take orders from anyone. Fifty years later, having watched genocide beamed live on our screens, at the world’s most powerful podium, we managed silence instead.

Let me be clear about what this article is not calling for. It is not a call for Nigeria to once again funnel its oil revenue into the Palestinian cause of self-determination, as we did for Southern Africa five decades ago. The world has changed, and Nigeria’s burdens at home are heavy enough. What this article calls for is simpler and more urgent: that Nigeria remembers that its moral standing is diminishing due to its romance with a state that is considered a pariah by the vast majority of the world’s nations, and finds the courage to re-earn it. A nation does not inherit its moral standing and build on it through immoral dealings with a state openly engaged in war crimes and genocide, and then react with silence on the world stage. It re-earns it, decision by decision, generation by generation. Murtala’s generation earned theirs at real cost — with severed ties, nationalised assets, lost contracts and, ultimately, blood. They did not do it for applause. They did it because they understood that justice could not be seasonal. They did it also for the simple reason that, as Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote in his “Letter from Birmingham Jail”, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” I am not yet ready to accept that my generation should spend that inheritance in silence. And I do not believe most Nigerians are either, if they are given the full record and asked to judge for themselves.

Lastly, what is at stake here is bigger than Palestine alone. It is the independence of Nigeria’s foreign policy itself. That policy must never be outsourced, subcontracted, or dictated by any foreign capital, however powerful. It must be independent of foreign control and influence, and must reflect, first and foremost, the interests, the vision and the values of the Nigerian people. It must draw from the long history of our nation’s reputation — not as a follower of convenience, but as a champion of just causes.

What worries many Nigerians today is the growing impression that our foreign policy is no longer guided by that long, principled history, but is now at the mercy of a few individuals who have prioritised personal friendship and the influence of Israel over Nigeria’s reputation and historical values. When private affinities and lobbying networks begin to shape national statements at the United Nations, when security deals are signed quietly while the National Assembly and the public are kept in the dark, we have departed from the Murtala doctrine. Foreign policy ceases to be Nigerian policy; it becomes the project of a few. Murtala understood this danger when he tore up that letter from Washington. Obasanjo understood it when he chose principle over BP. That is the tradition I am now calling on us to honour, not abandon. Nigeria must return to a foreign policy that is truly Nigerian — independent, people-centred, and anchored in justice.

Fifty Years After “Africa Has Come of Age”: A Personal Reflection on Nigeria’s Silence at the United Nations

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