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#EndSARS: Picking up the pieces

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 -By Simon Kolawole

How can a peaceful protest end up with killing and maiming, burning and looting in a matter of days? For those of us who have seen plenty “peaceful” protests in our lives, it is not too hard to explain. The moment you hit the streets and fail to read the road signs — so that you will know where and when to turn, reverse or park — you are at the risk of losing control of the steering wheel. You will end up carrying all kinds of passengers — thugs, hoodlums, gangsters, cultists, politicians and all manner of opportunists. In fact, you may unwittingly provide cover for state agents to target the assets and possibly the lives of perceived opponents and rivals. So it goes.

In the best of times, peaceful protests can go awry — much less in these hard times, with oil prices down, government revenue falling, the currency losing value, prices of goods and services rising, and, to add fuel to the fire, COVID-19 taking our breath away. A majority of the people are already bleeding and groaning with the removal of subsidies on petrol and electricity. And with the huge population of unemployed, underemployed and unemployable youth, we knew all along that an uprising was a strong possibility at some point. That a peaceful protest against police brutality, tagged #EndSARS, would spark off this massive carnage was what we probably did not budget for.

With the protests infiltrated by rogues, the anarchy was inevitable. My biggest fear was military involvement. Those who witnessed the massacres by soldiers during the pro-June 12 protests in 1993 and other riots under military regimes would agree with me that it was not a pretty sight. I was praying that troops would not be called in to quell the #EndSARS protests. But I was wrong. On Tuesday evening, soldiers invaded the Lekki ground and started shooting. Initial reports said there was a massacre, although there is yet no identified victim: no names, no addresses, no relatives; just grainy videos with tailored commentaries. Hopefully, we will have a much clearer picture soon.

This is my “executive summary” of the #EndSARS campaign. It started as a genuine protest on social media. It went to the streets. Government saw the danger and accepted the five demands of the protesters. Police disbanded SARS. States set up judicial panels to probe police brutality. Despite getting these concessions, protesters remained adamant. Then came the partisan and sectional dimensions — with #BuhariMustGo and #EndNigeria added to the hashtags. Mayhem started. Looting. Shooting. Lynching. Curfew. Then Lekki happened. And President Muhammadu Buhari, silent for so long, finally addressed the nation, basically declaring: “The fire next time!”

After Buhari’s broadcast, I could see defeat on the faces of the youth. Many started tweeting about relocating to Canada, declaring a total loss of faith in Nigeria. #ItIsFinished began trending. This is sad but I would like to appeal to the Nigerian youth not to give in or give up. The #EndSARS protest did not fail. For one, the protesters got the government to act on their demands — which is a major victory by any definition. SARS has been disbanded. I can bet that whatever police unit replaces SARS will come under stricter scrutiny. Judicial panels have been set up. We expect to see the murderous police officers face justice. Police reform is now an imperative. These are big wins.

Moreover, the youth have shown that they have the ability to organise. These are the same youth we condemn for voting more in Big Brother Naija than in general election. We have often described them as lazy, entitled and obsessed with Instagram, fast cars and bling. By starting a campaign against SARS and taking to the streets to protest police brutality, they brought the country to a halt and attracted international interest. Everybody started paying attention to them. We started celebrating the coming of age of our youth. Older people started scrambling to associate with the cause. Ladies and gentlemen, this is surely a positive development. Let’s not discard it.

What next? According to data from the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) released before the 2019 general election, the youth — described as those between ages 18 and 35 — made up about 51 percent of the 84 million registered voters. If you expand the age bracket to 50 years (to accommodate other young Nigerians like me), the figure jumps up to 81 percent. That is mind-boggling. What the youth should be thinking now is how to use these humongous figures to bring about new things in Nigeria in 2023 — rather than flee to Canada. They should realise Canada was not built in a day. Its people fought hard to build the country with their sweat and blood.

Just a brief journey into Canada’s history: there were two rebellions against “bad governance” between 1837 and 1838. The rebels were arrested after the uprisings and put on trial. Samuel Lount, one of the organisers of the Upper Canada Rebellion, was publicly hanged. He is regarded as a martyr till today. Over 100 rebels were sentenced to life imprisonment. What the rebel leaders wanted was political reform. They had a common agenda for Canada. Even though they paid the ultimate price, Canada was never the same again. Reform came. Today, Canada is one of the most developed countries in the world. But Canada was not always like this. People paid the price.

What’s my point? The youth must begin to conceive a new political order and the role they can play in birthing it. The #OccupyOjota protests of 2012 helped in building the momentum that uprooted the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) from power in 2015 and installed the All Progressives Congress (APC). In 2023, the #EndSARS momentum can become a movement that will help uproot both APC and PDP from power and birth a new political culture where government officials will begin to pay less attention to the perks of office and more to their responsibilities to Nigerians. And I mean at all levels — local, state and federal. That would be the best legacy of #EndSARS.

Behold, how good and how pleasant it would be for Nigerian youth to unite in the quest for good governance!  They can be more politically active. They can be more involved in choosing councillors, council chairpersons, state lawmakers, governors, federal lawmakers and the president. It does not mean only the youth will occupy these positions. In addition to contesting, the youth can engage with the aspirants and candidates, scrutinise them, advance the agenda of good governance, monitor the performances of those elected or appointed, and mobilise for recall or removal if they fail to deliver. Canada was not built in a day. Nation-building is not a sprint. It is a marathon.

I hope the youth have also learnt their lessons from the #EndSARS fiasco. One, you don’t go to war without visible leadership. You will end up creating anarchy and mob action. We can now see the consequences. Things completely went out of control and there was nobody to call the mobsters to order. Leadership is key in every life endeavour. Two, you don’t go to war without a plan. There should be Plan A, Plan B and even Plan C. I did not see any plan apart from “we no go gree o”. Three, because of lack of leadership and strategy, the protests continued when they should have been called off. Now over 70 people are dead. This is extremely disturbing and disheartening.

Four, you must take your wins and know when to retreat without surrendering. When SARS was disbanded and judicial panels set up, that was the time to retreat. That was the time to say: “We are suspending the protests. If nothing changes, we will return to the streets.” Some people were even demanding that Buhari should sign an “executive order” to show that SARS had been disbanded. It got that ridiculous. Some rejected the panels because there was no “youth” and declared a boycott. I have come to learn that boycott is not an effective strategy. Campaign for youth inclusion in the panels but mobilise to engage with the process and follow through to get justice.

Five, you must stay the message. Nigerians were united in the call to stop police brutality. It was nationwide. Contrary to the propaganda, there were #EndSARS protests in Kaduna, Kano, Kwara, Nasarawa, Adamawa and some other northern states. It was not a purely southern thing. Unfortunately, some people sneaked in their #BuhariMustGo and #EndNigeria agenda and things began to fall apart. More so, protesters started losing focus when they moved from the unifying agenda against police brutality and expanded it to an omnibus campaign for restructuring and ending corruption and bad governance. It is impossible to achieve everything at a go.

Finally, the youth must learn from their elders. As the Yoruba would say, no matter how many Gucci shirts a child has, he can never have as many rags as an elder. Some youth actually think the story of Nigeria started in 1999 or 2015. Actually, people have been fighting for a better Nigeria for 100 years. Our forefathers played their roles and left. We are still fighting for a better Nigeria. We cannot all adopt the same style and strategy. Ultimately, we need to engage constructively to change the rigged and warped system. From my little experience, starting a mass action without a strategy, without a fall-back plan, and without giving an inch can only lead to anarchy. Lessons learnt?

Simon Kolawole is chief executive officer of The Cable, an online news platform.

Opinion

New York Times and Onitsha screwdriver sellers’ data, By Farooq Kperogi

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Kperogi is a renowned columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism 
Farooq Kperogi

New York Times and Onitsha screwdriver sellers’ data, By Farooq Kperogi

The New York Times of January 18, 2026 published an explosive story showing how unverified and methodologically questionable data produced by a little-known Onitsha screwdriver seller who moonlights as an NGO activist, Emeka Umeagbalasi of Intersociety, traveled upward into US Republican politics and helped shape a narrative of “Christian genocide” in Nigeria, culminating in Trump-ordered airstrikes in Sokoto State.

Umeagbalasi, who runs Intersociety from his home and relies largely on secondary sources, assumptions, presumptions and Google searches, admitted that he rarely verifies deaths, often imputes victims’ religious identities based on his understanding of what I like to call Nigeria’s emotional geography, and inflates figures that conflict researchers and even church leaders dispute.

Despite these flaws, his claims were cited by Fox News, Senator Ted Cruz, Rep. Riley Moore and other Republicans, and echoed by the White House. It illustrates how fraudulent data, ideological advocacy and US culture-war politics converged to misframe Nigeria’s complex violence as a one-sided religious slaughter rather than a crisis of state failure affecting Christians, Muslims, traditional religious worshipers and nonreligious people.

But a certain class of Nigerians have chosen to either not read the New York Times story (instantiating my recent Facebook post about Nigerians’ fixation with forming opinions based only on headlines) or to read it but allow their preconceived biases to befog their comprehension.

Some low-information, high-ignorance Nigerians even claim that the New York Times report was bought with the reported $9 million the Bola Tinubu government paid to a conservative lobbying firm in Washington, DC. I will return to this point shortly.

Interestingly, a December 26, 2025 investigation by the BBC’s Global Disinformation Unit reached strikingly similar conclusions to those of the New York Times. The BBC investigation, which surprisingly did not gain traction in Nigeria when it was first published, also showed that the figures underpinning the “Christian genocide” narrative are unverifiable, internally inconsistent and sharply at odds with independent conflict-monitoring data.

It noted that groups such as ACLED document widespread killings across Nigeria but find no credible evidence of a coordinated campaign targeting Christians alone. Violence in Nigeria, the BBC observed, is better explained by state weakness, banditry, insurgency and impunity, dynamics that endanger Muslims and Christians alike.

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Crucially, the BBC report situates the persistence of the genocide framing within southeastern Nigeria’s political history. It highlights how some of the loudest voices amplifying the narrative are rooted in Igbo political grievances and are entangled with pro-Biafra networks that have long sought international sympathy by portraying the Nigerian state as genocidal.

Recasting Nigeria’s complex security crisis as a religious extermination campaign provides a morally powerful export narrative, particularly when targeted at US evangelical and conservative audiences.

The report quoted a Biafran separatist group as admitting to playing a major role in promoting the “Christian genocide” narrative in the US Congress. “The Biafra Republic Government in Exile, BRGIE, described it as a ‘highly orchestrated effort,’ saying it had hired lobbying firms and met US officials, including Cruz.”

That framing found fertile ground in Washington. Lobbying firms and advocacy networks tailored the message for American culture-war politics, where persecution of Christians abroad resonates strongly. Republican lawmakers, often unfamiliar with Nigeria’s internal dynamics, repeated the claims with little scrutiny.

In that sense, the genocide story was less the product of rigorous evidence than of ideological alignment, diaspora activism and a lobbying ecosystem eager for simple moral binaries.

This does not, by any stretch of the imagination, suggest that Christians are not being killed in large numbers in northern Nigeria or that victims are unjustified in framing their suffering in religious terms simply because many of the perpetrators identify as Muslims. My first column on this issue acknowledged this fact.

But the pushback is warranted because the narrative is built on false data and amplified to US lobby groups by people whose agenda is not primarily about Christian genocide. It is also warranted because Muslims are being murdered in large numbers by the same actors who are killing Christians.

On the surface, it may seem defensible to argue that since the people killing Muslims are also Muslims, only the killings of Christians matter. But that position is both morally and sociologically problematic.

First, every unjustified death should concern us. Second, human beings inhabit a multiplicity of identities. Being Muslim is not the sum total of the lives of people murdered by bandits and terrorists.

To suggest that the murder of Hausa and sedentary Fulani by bandits and terrorists does not matter as much as the murder of Christians simply because the villains and victims share the same faith betrays a lack of humanity.

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In my part of Nigeria, broadly speaking Borgu, which stretches across parts of Kebbi, Niger and Kwara States, scores of our people are murdered regularly. To imply that those deaths do not matter because most people there are Muslims cuts deeply. And that is where the “Christian genocide” narrative has led.

The internationalization of this narrative in the service of separatist advocacy makes it particularly jarring. That is why independent international media have been drawn to interrogate it, and why the story is now crumbling under sustained scrutiny.

Now, back to the conspiracy theory that the New York Times story was spurred by the Nigerian government.

There is no relationship between the Nigerian government’s reported payment to a conservative lobbying firm in Washington and the New York Times investigation that dismantled the Christian genocide narrative. None. The two events merely occurred in the same news cycle, and coincidence is being mistaken for causation.

To begin with the basics, there is no credible historical record of the New York Times ever accepting monetary inducement to write or slant a story. Not from governments, not from corporations, not from foreign lobbies.

In more than a century of operation, the paper has been sued, criticized, corrected, embarrassed and sometimes wrong, but it has never been shown to have sold its news judgment for cash.

The Times is not a fragile outfit scrambling for influence money. It is a multibillion-dollar publicly traded company whose value runs into the low tens of billions of dollars, whose brand is widely regarded as America’s newspaper of record and whose reporters earn, on average, six-figure salaries.

Its institutional power flows from credibility, not access fees. Destroying that credibility for a $9 million foreign lobbying contract, money that would not even pass through its books, would be commercial and reputational suicide.

Just as importantly, the lobbying payment itself is being misunderstood. Lobbyists in Washington influence government policy, not news coverage. They target lawmakers, executive agencies and regulatory processes.

They do not buy front-page investigations at elite newspapers, especially not papers that routinely antagonize conservative politicians and administrations. The idea that a conservative lobby would bribe a liberal newspaper to undermine a conservative narrative is internally incoherent.

The contrast with Nigerian media practices is uncomfortable but unavoidable. In the United States, mainstream news organizations do not accept bribes to write stories. Paying journalists to publish or suppress coverage is a career-ending offense. Newsrooms are legally exposed, aggressively scrutinized and professionally policed in ways that make such conduct extraordinarily risky.

That does not mean American journalism is perfect or bias-free. It means its failures are not transactional in the crude cash-for-coverage sense that some Nigerians assume or know.

So why does the bribery explanation feel plausible to some Nigerians? The answer lies not in evidence but in cognition and experience.

People rely on the availability heuristic, drawing on what they know best. If influence at home is often bought with money, money becomes the default explanation everywhere else. This is reinforced by analogical overreach, that is, the assumption that foreign institutions must function like local ones despite radically different incentive structures and accountability systems.

There is also institutional opacity. When people lack procedural knowledge of how elite Western media operate, they substitute a simpler question for a harder one. Instead of asking how a newspaper verifies sources or decides newsworthiness, they ask who paid whom. Add correlation-as-causation bias, the temptation to connect two adjacent events, and a narrative writes itself.

Layered onto this is monocausal populism, the belief that complex outcomes must have a single villain, usually money, and epistemic provincialism, the assumption that local moral failures are universal features of power.

In low-trust environments like Nigeria, conspiracy rationality becomes an ordinary mode of explanation rather than a fringe pathology. It supplies coherence where institutional trust is absent.

Finally, there is what in media studies we call narrative closure bias. The bribery story feels complete. Institutional independence feels abstract and unsatisfying. Closure beats accuracy.

Put plainly, the claim that a conservative lobby bribed a liberal American newspaper to publish an investigation that undercut conservative politicians tells us far more about how Nigerians make sense of distant power than about how American journalism actually works.

The New York Times story stands or falls on its evidence and methods. So far, critics have attacked neither. They have simply imagined a transaction that never happened.

Kperogi is a renowned Nigerian columnist and United States-based professor of Journalism.

Views expressed on this opinion are personal and do not reflect the thoughts and beliefs of newstrends.ng or its owners.

New York Times and Onitsha screwdriver sellers’ data, By Farooq Kperogi

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Farooq Kperogi: Celebrating ASUU-FG’s historic reset with caveats

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Kperogi is a renowned columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism 
Farooq Kperogi

Farooq Kperogi: Celebrating ASUU-FG’s historic reset with caveats

After sixteen years of stalemate, serial strikes and ritualized brinkmanship, the Federal Government and the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) have finally signed a renegotiated agreement that replaces the moribund 2009 pact. This is at once historic, consequential and praiseworthy.

For the first time in a generation, Nigeria’s public universities have a framework that promises industrial harmony, predictability of academic calendars and an end to the cruel cycle in which students lose years of their lives to shutdowns that have nothing to do with them. If implemented faithfully, the agreement will allow students to graduate on time, restore confidence in public universities and begin the long task of rebuilding Nigeria’s battered higher education system.

Credit is due to the Minister of Education, Dr. Tunji Alausa, and to President Bola Ahmed Tinubu for pushing this through. In fact, the ASUU agreement is about the only major promise Tinubu made in the poetry of campaign that he has clearly kept in the prose of governance.

The symbolism is even more striking when contrasted with the immediate past. The Muhammadu Buhari administration presided over one of the most destructive eras in the history of Nigerian university education.

This was made all the more tragic by the presence of Adamu Adamu as Minister of Education. Before his appointment, Adamu, for whom I had enormously unconditional respect, was a well-known public defender of ASUU in his intrepid newspaper columns in the Daily Trust. Once in office, however, he turned out to be one of the most hostile ministers Nigerian academics have ever encountered.

On October 9, 2022, at the height of that administration’s war with ASUU, I wrote on social media: “Adamu Adamu, an erstwhile ASUU ally, is turning out to be the deadliest foe ASUU has ever had. With help from Ngige, he’s dealing the union one crushing blow after another…. Lesson: the fact that someone is your friend today doesn’t mean they can’t be a murderous foe tomorrow.”

The Tinubu administration has, at the very least, reversed that posture of antagonism and replaced it with negotiation, compromise and a willingness to reset the relationship between government and academia.

At its core, the new pact addresses the three issues that have driven nearly two decades of conflict: pay, welfare and the structure of university funding.

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First is a 40 percent salary increase for lecturers, effective January 1, 2026. Someone rightly remarked that it’s the single largest upward review of academic salaries in over a decade. It’s a long overdue correction after years of erosion by inflation and currency collapse.

For professors, this comes with a new professorial cadre allowance of about 140,000 naira monthly, while readers (roughly equivalent to associate professors) receive about 70,000 naira. Earned academic allowances have also been restructured and tied more clearly to actual academic labor such as postgraduate supervision, fieldwork and research coordination.

Second is a major reform of retirement benefits. Professors who retire at the statutory age of 70 are now guaranteed pension benefits equivalent to their full annual salary. This provision alone is transformative. It ends the shameful tradition of professors retiring into poverty after decades of service and sends a powerful signal to younger academics that a life devoted to teaching and research will not be punished at the end.

Third is the institutionalization of research funding through the proposed establishment of a National Research Council, funded at not less than one percent of GDP. For the first time in Nigeria’s history, research financing is being embedded in national planning rather than left to donor whims and sporadic government interventions.

If implemented properly, this could anchor doctoral training, strengthen laboratories and libraries and finally position Nigeria as a serious knowledge producer.

Fourth is a new funding structure for universities that links capital funding, infrastructure development and staff development to long-term planning rather than emergency interventions. TETFund remains central, but funding is now part of an overarching reform framework.

Fifth is a recommitment to university autonomy and academic freedom, including protections against political interference in hiring, curriculum and internal governance. If faithfully implemented, which is never a guarantee but noteworthy nonetheless, vice-chancellors may not be the glorified political appointees that many of them are now, and universities may cease to be extensions of the civil service.

Finally, the agreement formally buries the 2009 pact that haunted the system like a zombie document. The new framework, produced by the Yayale Ahmed Committee after fourteen months of negotiations, is structured, phased and subject to periodic review. This gives ASUU leverage and gives government predictability.

Yet it is important to separate celebration from illusion. The new agreement is a noteworthy improvement on the living and working conditions of Nigerian university lecturers. But it is not yet competitive by continental standards, and it is unlikely, on its own, to halt academic brain drain.

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Before the agreement, a full professor in a federal university earned roughly 525,000 naira to 630,000 naira monthly. With a 40 percent raise and the new 140,000-naira professorial allowance, a senior professor will now earn in the range of 1 million naira to 1.1 million naira per month, depending on rank and allowances.

That sounds impressive in naira terms. In continental terms, however, it remains deeply uncompetitive.

In South Africa, professors earn the equivalent of about $4,500 to $5,000 per month. In Kenya, professors earn around $1,300 monthly. In Uganda, the figure is about $1,100. In Ghana, professors earn roughly $700 to $800 monthly. In Egypt and Morocco, senior academics earn well above Nigeria’s new scale.

At current exchange rates, a Nigerian professor earning 1.1 million naira a month makes roughly $700. That places Nigeria near the bottom of Africa’s academic pay ladder, ahead of only a handful of fragile economies.

This is why Nigerian universities continue to hemorrhage talent. Professors are leaving for South Africa, Rwanda, Kenya, Botswana, the Gulf, Europe and North America not because they dislike Nigeria but because Nigeria does not value academic labor competitively. A Nigerian professor now earns in a month what a South African professor earns in a week.

The salary increase is therefore a necessary correction, not a strategic solution. It slows the bleeding. It does not stop it.

There is also a potential booby trap embedded in the agreement that deserves sober reflection. The guarantee of full-salary pensions for retired professors has been widely welcomed, and rightly so. But pension experts have warned that this provision resembles a return to the old defined-benefit pension system that Nigeria abandoned two decades ago because it was fiscally unsustainable.

A January 16, 2026, report by TheCable highlighted the controversy sparked by the Director-General of the National Pension Commission, who defended the ASUU deal amid fears that it could undermine the contributory pension scheme. Critics argue that guaranteeing pensions equivalent to full salaries without a clearly defined funding mechanism risks recreating the very problems that forced Nigeria to reform its pension system in the first place.

If the new pension promise is not carefully structured, transparently funded and legally insulated from political manipulation, it could become a future flashpoint for industrial conflict that unfairly punishes students and parents.

Expectations will rise. Budgetary pressures will mount. Regulators will resist. And another round of industrial disharmony could follow.

There is one more omission in the agreement that deserves attention. My friend Prof. Moses Ochonu and I have long argued that the federal government should not simply accede to ASUU’s demands, however legitimate, without also insisting on mechanisms for instructional accountability, research productivity, service delivery and innovation.

Without a system to institutionalize accountability and transparency, students will always be shortchanged, and the nation will be betrayed by lecturers who show little commitment to their craft or to genuine knowledge production and dissemination.

It has become a disturbing culture in Nigerian universities for lecturers to show up in class whenever they please without consequence. In my undergraduate days, I took courses where lecturers appeared only twice in the entire semester, first to introduce themselves and last to set an exam on material they never taught. My conversations with today’s undergraduates suggest that this still happens.

Of course, not everyone is guilty of this. Many Nigerian academics are dedicated teachers and serious scholars working under brutal conditions. But not even one person should be allowed to get away with such negligence.

University lecturers should also not be allowed to publish in substandard, pay-to-play, predatory journals simply to climb the academic ladder. Promotion should reward intellectual rigor, not transactional publishing.
If Nigeria is going to invest billions in salaries, pensions, and research funding, it must also demand excellence in return. Anything less is a betrayal of students and of the country’s development aspirations.

This agreement gives Nigeria a chance to rebuild. Whether it becomes a renaissance or another chapter in the long story of squandered opportunity will depend on what happens next.

Kperogi is a renowned Nigerian columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism.

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Where’s Kano’s former SSG Bichi? By Farooq Kperogi

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Kperogi is a renowned columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism 
Farooq Kperogi

Where’s Kano’s former SSG Bichi? By Farooq Kperogi

In late 2024, it came into the open for the first time that the relationship between Dr. Rabiu Kwankwaso and his protégé, Gov. Abba Kabiru Yusuf, had fractured. But it was quickly papered over and dismissed as mere noise, a distraction engineered by enemies of Kwankwasiyya.

Then a few people in Gov. Yusuf’s government, accused of standing in the way between Dr. Kwankwaso and Gov. Yusuf, were fired. The most prominent of such firings was that of Prof. Abdullahi Baffa Bichi, the Secretary to the Government (SSG).

Prof. Bichi’s firing shocked me, so I reached out to a friend of mine who seems to be deeply inserted into, or at least close to people who are denizens of, the Kwankwasiyya power structure to seek explanations for why Bichi was let go.

He confided that Prof. Bichi was one of the arrowheads of the people who were goading Gov. Yusuf to assert his independence from Dr. Kwankwaso. That shocked me.

It shocked me because when Dr. Kwankwaso called me sometime in late 2023, he was with Prof. Bichi. He introduced Bichi with a lot of enthusiasm and asked if I knew him because we are both professors who graduated from Bayero University.

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I said Bichi graduated before me but that I knew him by reputation because of his service as the Executive Secretary of the Tertiary Education Trust Fund (TETFund) from 2016 to 2019. He had a major falling out with former Education Minister Adamu Adamu, which caused his unceremonious firing, about which I wrote at the time.

Kwankwaso spoke very highly of Bichi and said he wanted me to get close to him. We never did. Kwankwaso did not remember to send me Bichi’s phone number as he promised, and I never reminded him.

But they seemed to have a great chemistry, and I got the impression that Bichi was one of Kwankwaso’s metaphoric eyes in the government, a trusted sentinel planted at the nerve center of power.

You can imagine my shock when I was told that he was one of the engineers of a political divorce between Yusuf and Kwankwaso.

But now that the divorce between Yusuf and Kwankwaso appears to have happened even after Bichi has been sacrificed in the service of signaling the indissolubility of the political bond between them, what do we make of this?

Where is Bichi? What is he saying about all this? Is he having the last laugh?

Where’s Kano’s former SSG Bichi? By Farooq Kperogi

Farouk Kperogi is a renowned columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism.

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