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IGP Disu: Inside the rotting walls of Zone II

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Driving 756km to watch soccer god, Messi

IGP Disu: Inside the rotting walls of Zone II

Tunde Odesola

(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, May 22, 2026)

Except for its motto and morality, there is hardly anything wrong with the Nigeria Police Force. If burnished in the furnace of grammar, the statement, “Police is your friend,” which is the motto of the Nigeria Police, is wrong because ‘police’ is a plural noun, and so, cannot legally coexist with ‘is’, a singular tense. Therefore, to put the motto in the right grammatical drive, the statement should read, “The police are your friend(s).” Aside from the test of grammar, the motto also fails the test of authenticity because, as everyone knows, the Nigeria Police Force is friendless and loveless.

But this wasn’t the fate of the force some 40 years ago when I walked into the Okigwe police station, stranded and needing a place to lay my head for the night. Early in the day, before the second crow of cock, I had boarded ‘The Young Shall Grow’ bus from Lagos en route to Okigwe, the home of Imo State University, where I had just been admitted.

It was a mobileless era when a letter sent by post to a distant state travelled like a tortoise with arthritis, crawling for weeks or months before reaching its destination. As soon as I got my admission letter from JAMB, I headed eastwards, afraid of missing the registration window and ultimately forfeiting my admission. The Lagos Liaison Office of the school had no information because it was on recess. Quickly, I borrowed the wisdom in a Yoruba proverb that says: “Kí ojú má rí’bi, gbogbo ara ni ògun ẹ̀’. Translated: “For the eyes not to see evil, the whole of the body must be agile.” So, I hit Oshodi, boarded a bus, and moved agilely to Okigwe.

However, Nigeria happened on the road.

Head of Zone II, Assistant Inspector-General Moshood Jimoh

Head of Zone II, Assistant Inspector-General Moshood Jimoh

Due to mechanical delays and a poor road network, the bus didn’t reach Okigwe until late in the night when the whole town was in bed, except the dingy police station. Though I was a lad who had never travelled outside the south-west and spoke not a syllable of Igbo, I knew police stations across the country were a place of refuge and fortress. I knew the Nigerian police, in a good measure, embodied the spirit of service and protection.

Similarly, “To protect and to serve” is the spirit behind the motto of police departments across the United States. But somewhere along Nigeria’s broken national journey, the Nigeria Police Force lost its spirit, service, and protection.

The reasons for this monumental loss are clear to the blind eye. With a numerical strength of 371,800 officers and men, the police-to-citizen ratio in Nigeria is about one police officer to every 637 citizens, which falls short of the United Nations’ recommendation of one cop to 430 persons. To attain the UN benchmark, experts say the country’s police force must hit between 650,000 and 684,000. A force starved of funding, adequate welfare, modern technology, equity and fairness cannot produce saints in uniform.

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The officer on duty that night in Okigwe was courteous but pitiable. I introduced myself and showed him my admission letter. He wondered why someone would leave Lagos for Okigwe. “Uhmm! My brother, you can see di way we dey here o. NEPA don take light. If you fit manage for dat place till morning; day go soon break,” he pointed to a concrete slab that was about to be my king-size bed. But providence had a deal lined up for me. As I sat on the slab, contemplating how I was going to sleep, a man in mufti walked in, spoke with the policeman on duty, and went to rummage through a chest of drawers at the back of the counter. He was a policeman. On his way out, he stopped and shot a glance at the man on duty, asking with his eyes who I was. “The boy na student of IMSU. He no know say di school never resume, and na from Lagos im come. He wan sleep here till morning.”

The man in mufti spoke Igbo to me. I smiled and told him I didn’t understand Igbo.

“So, you bi Yoruba from Lagos?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ha!” Why you come suffer come dis far? Why you no stay for Lagos or Ibadan?”

“I have spent all my life in Lagos and wanted a change.”

“Hia! Mosquitoes go chop you finish for dis station o. If you no mind, you fit come and manage with me till morning. Day go soon break.”

Though I felt safe in the station, I couldn’t bring myself to reject the Good Samaritan’s offer. So, we both left the station in a pall of darkness and headed to his abode, which was a stone’s throw away. As we made our way through bush paths to his house, I asked if there was a watering hole where we could have some beer. “All of dem don close. Okigwe dy sleepy once university no dey session,” he said, and added, “You dey hungry? I no get food for house o,” smiling. I told him I was hungry. So, we went to a house where he knocked on the door, and a sleepy woman opened the door and sold us bread, moin-moin and soda, which I paid for. On the way to his house, I fished a packet of Consulate cigarettes out of my pocket, the policeman whistled in admiration and said, “You bi original Lagos boy!”

Darkness escorted us to his house, which looked like an abandoned poultry shed. “This is where I dey manage o,” he said in a welcome. The house was built with corrugated iron, with holes that let in the rays of the moon through cracks. He showed me his mattressless king-size bed. “I go sleep on the floor,” he said, “You fit sleep on the bed.” It was a large-hearted moment of benevolence, and I was deeply moved. I spread my clothes over the naked springs, lay down and pretended to sleep, peeping at the sky through the cracks in the roof, silently asking God if He could see what I was going through. I prayed silently that I may succeed in my academic journey in the land of the rising sun.

At dawn, he showed me his bathroom – if courtesy permits me to call it a bathroom. Four sticks rammed into the earth, wrapped with palm fronds, roofless and doorless. In that jacuzzi, the heavens watched your nakedness while passersby viewed your legs as your towel or wrapper served as a door. I took my bath with the brown water my benefactor provided and headed to the school to see things for myself, offering profuse thanks for the memorable accommodation.

That was the situation of the police force 40 years ago: poor, neglected, unpaid – yet still recognisably human. Today, the situation has not changed, the motto has not changed, but the morality and purpose of the force have changed drastically. Today, poverty remains, but humanity has fled. The bloodstream of the police has been infected. Police stations are no longer safe for the police and the citizens.

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I have encountered one thousand and one ugly police experiences bordering on corruption, impunity, wickedness and opportunism. I can’t mention all, but the sheer devilry behind police actions was shocking. One was when my uncle, Abel Odesola, was killed on the Ife-Ilesa Expressway by a drunk driver in an accident in 2005, and the police at Atakumosa police station demanded a bribe from my family before they could release his corpse. I refused to pay the bribe and got my uncle’s corpse out. Another was when a team of policemen arrested me in the Ajegunle area of Osogbo, took me to the station for standing up to their impunity. On the way to the station, they told the eldest among them to lie that I slapped him. Little did they know that I was recording all our exchanges on the way to the station. The Osun Commissioner of Police threatened to sack them, and I had to beg on their behalf.

Now, age has tempered my intolerance of police impunity. Today, I often resist the temptation to escalate police misconduct on the pages of newspapers because I understand the internal mechanics of the force. The recklessness of a corporal can stain the career of a commissioner. One scandal can trigger a chain reaction. So, I often let things slide.

This was exactly what happened two years ago when officers made unprofessional demands of me at the Zone II Command Headquarters of the NPF, Onikan. I declined to comply but let it slide. This was after I went upstairs and complained to one of their bosses. I knew if I went to the press with the unprofessional actions of the junior officers, the embarrassment would travel upwards.

Thunder struck the same spot early again this year when I took a case of fraud to the notorious Zone II Zonal Command Headquarters, Onikan. It took PUNCH authorities to call the IG’s office to complain about the actions of the officers of the zone before the case could even be listed for investigation. The immediate past leadership of the zone appeared disturbingly indifferent, maybe deliberately so, for some reasons best known to it.

In a petition I wrote to the command on December 11, 2025, I complained about a suspected fraudster named Wole, who fraudulently obtained $8,800 from me during the process of helping him to buy a 2014 Toyota 4Runner from the US. The criminal suspect had lied to me that he was working with Dangote Refineries and repeatedly assured me repayment was guaranteed. This was in 2022. When I realised the suspect had no job, I personally helped him secure job opportunities, including two banking jobs and an accounting position with a major newspaper in the country.

The suspect turned all the jobs down, citing flimsy excuses.

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That was when it finally dawned on me that the suspect was playing games. So, I gave him an eight-month deadline, warning that I would initiate legal actions if he failed to pay me by November 2025. When he failed to pay, I wrote a petition to Zone II, titled “Re: Fraudulent Obtainment of $8,88,” which was received and signed by the zone on December 11, 2025. Wole wrote an undertaking at the zone that he would pay me the equivalent of N500,000 in dollars every month. He only paid for January, February and March. Efforts to get the zone to reach Wole had been futile as excuses tumbled down from Onikan, with the investigating police officer, Mrs Priscilla Erroim, telling me that the suspect was not picking up her calls, while he cruised the streets in the silver-coloured Toyota 4Runner with number plate LSD 388 HS.

I had thought that when an officer goes on transfer, the cases they were handling would be transferred to another officer. More so, the suspect included his residential address in the undertaking. This was not the case with Zone II. The case was just left in limbo. At the commencement of the case, I had a very rough time with Erroim, who is a Chief Superintendent of Police, and her subordinate named Francis. But we later resolved the conflict between us.

When I could not make a headway with Erroim and Francis, I called the Zonal PRO, Mr Gbenga Afolayan, a deputy superintendent of police, who said the officers handling the case before they were transferred should tell me who they had handled the case to. Thus, the case ran into a cul-de-sac. But an Assistant Commissioner of Police, Mr Ojugbele, distinguished himself by making genuine efforts to intervene.

I had thought that the recent shake-up within the force by the Inspector General was yielding results when I texted the new Head of Zone II, Assistant Inspector-General Moshood Jimoh, who acknowledged my text and promised that the zone would look into the case. I was pleasantly shocked! “Here’s an AIG responding to a random citizen personally, while the former AIG in charge of the zone wouldn’t respond,” I thought to myself. The Nigeria Police Force is working!

I acknowledged Jimoh’s prompt response in my article published in THE PUNCH on Friday, May 15, 2026, titled, “IG’s deployments and the rebirth of Zone II.” The article was published under another article, “Adeleke: Crime cannot dethrone Apetu and enthrone Oluwo.”

How wrong was I! Little did I know that what appeared to attract Jimoh to respond to my texts was not duty, but the allure of my foreign telephone number. Or, how do I explain that calls and texts to him after I introduced myself and made the publication were ignored? It left me wondering what manner of service and protection the common man gets from the police force if a columnist with the most widely read newspaper in the country could be tossed up and down by officers?

As it happened to me two years ago at Zone II, Onikan, so it has happened to me again this year: officers deliberately erect obstacles before citizens, preparing the ground for exploitation. I’m sure the shake-up initiated within the force by the IG is part of ongoing reforms aimed at re-energising the force. But for men and officers of Zone II, Onikan, this reform is like water bouncing off a rock. The IG must break that rock; otherwise, his efforts would go down the drain.

There is no nobler honour than for men and women to put their lives on the line for the safety of their country. This is why I spare no effort in commending the nation’s security agencies whenever they do right. But when corruption takes the place of conscience, then the walls of police institutions begin to rot from within.

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

X: @Tunde_Odesola

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Opinion

ON THE IMPLEMENTATION OF THE ASUU-FGN 2025 AGREEMENT

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ON THE IMPLEMENTATION OF THE ASUU-FGN 2025 AGREEMENT

ON THE IMPLEMENTATION OF THE ASUU-FGN 2025 AGREEMENT

Jeff Godwin Doki

It has become very necessary to clear some of the innumerable misconceptions surrounding the implementation of the ASUU-FGN Agreement which was signed on December, 23, 2025. Without doubt, this clarification shall be for the benefit of the General public, the Nigerian Media, Students, Parents and other stakeholders in the Education sector who have overtime been fed with all manner of untruths and a litany of lies by the Ministry of Education. Below is a true and honest account of the whole issue. Recall that the negotiation of this agreement lasted for eight good years punctuated essentially by many hiccups and false starts. But first, let us historicize this. The ASUU- FGN 2025 Agreement started in 2006 and stretched to 2009. In 2009, the FGN signed the agreement with ASUU made up of all Federal and State Universities. The Government team was headed by Chief Gamaliel Onosode while ASUU was represented by Dr. Abdullahi Sule who was later replaced by Prof.Ukachukwu Awuzie, himself a Professor from a State University in Nigeria. Over the years, ASUU made series of efforts to get the government to renegotiate this very agreement. The efforts of ASUU bore some kind of fruit in March, 2017 when the government constituted a committee to renegotiate the 2009 Agreement.

The first attempt was by the committee headed by Wale Babalakin which was botched and replaced by the committees by Jibril Munzali and Emeritus Prof. Nimi Briggs both of which produced agreed documents but, sadly, the Federal Government turned down the two draft agreements especially the one headed by Emeritus Prof. Nimi Briggs. At the end of the day, it was the Agreement submitted by the Alhaji Yayale Ahmed committee in February, 2025 that was renegotiated and signed in December 2025.

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Then on January 14, 2026, the FGN decided to publicly unveil the agreement in Abuja with much mumbo-jumbo and fanfare that smacked of hypocrisy and deceit. As a matter of fact, some commentators called the unveiling ceremony a cynical and mischievous one. The question that such fanfare surrounding the unveiling of an agreement raises in such a timely fashion is straightforward: is this public show of patriotism not one of the whims and chicanery of the Education Minister? Why draw the attention of the entire world to the unveiling of an agreement between the Government and the University teachers? Has the signing of an agreement become some national victory? But more worrisome is the fact that after the whole shebang of that public show, the FGN did not find it necessary to match its words with action by inaugurating an Implementation Monitoring Committee (IMC) with the responsibility of ensuring that all the terms spelt out in the 2025 Agreement were implemented.

More disturbing is that the same FGN did not find it necessary to provide the solvent or cash-backing to University administrators to implement the Agreement and in a letter in the month of February, 2026, the Education Minister had requested University authorities to go ahead and pay the three major components of the Agreement namely: Consolidated Academic Tools Allowance (CATA), Earned Academic Allowance (EAA) and Professorial Allowance (PA) using their Internally Generated Revenue (IGR). It could be perceived that mischief and deceit were clearly at work here. The reasons trumped off for Government’s inability to implement the Agreement at that time was that the 2026 Budget was awaiting approval by the National Assembly. And what happened when the budget was eventually approved? Silence! No action!

When by May 2026, it became apparent that both the Federal and State Governments have not demonstrated serious and sincere commitment to implementing the Agreement, the National Executive Council of ASUU at its meeting held at the at Modibbo Adamawa University Yola, resolved to engage the Press by drawing the attention of the general public to the imminent crisis in the Nigerian universities should governments fail to urgently honor the Agreement. Perhaps, it was this Media option that compelled the Federal Government to release about 80 billion Naira to take care of the monetary component of the Agreement. The FGN also set up an Implementation Monitoring Committee saddled with the responsibility of developing an equitable formula for fund allocation among beneficiary institutions, in this case, both Federal and State Universities.

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In all fairness, the Implementation Monitoring Committee (IMC) allocated the sum of Seventy -four billion six hundred and ten million naira (#74,610,000,000.00) to be shared to both Federal and States universities. The committee also identified a total of seventy -nine universities in Nigeria as eligible beneficiaries. Out of this number, forty-four are Federal universities and thirty-five State universities. But most importantly, Federal universities were allocated 70% of this sum amounting to fifty-one billion, eight hundred and forty two million seven hundred thousand naira (#51, 842,700,000,00), while State universities received 30% amounting to (#22,218,300.000.00).
Apart from states that have more than two or more universities (namely Kano, Ondo, Bayelsa,) each state university received a uniformed sum of six hundred and fifty three million, four hundred and seventy nine thousand four hundred and eleven naira seventy six kobo(#653,479,411.76).

Now to the point: many state governments are yet to commence the implementation of the Agreement. Some even claim that the Agreement was signed between the Federal Government and ASUU alone. Some outrightly deny that they were not aware of such an Agreement. But mark this: the Federal Government of Nigeria has, times without number, told Nigerian citizens that since the removal of fuel subsidy in 2023, gargantuan sums of money are being released on a monthly basis to all state Governors in the country and for that reason, state Governors have no excuse but to bring the much-needed development to the people and give them a better life and education. And from the figures quoted above it could be perceived that the Federal Government has released money to both Federal and state universities in Nigeria. Let us concede that in this regard, some state Governments namely: Bauchi, Benue, Ekiti, Osun, Ogun, and Sokoto States, deserve commendation for taking the lead to implement this agreement in their state universities. The obvious implication is that the Vice chancellors of these state universities have demonstrated abundantly that they are genuine and patriotic citizens concerned with the development of the education sector.
From the foregoing argument, it could be deduced that any State Governor or visitor who has not released money meant for the implementation of the ASUU-FGN Agreement is an unpatriotic nation-wrecker whose desire is to derail our country and, in fact, the entire Nigerian university system from its chosen path of orderly progress into renewed crisis and anarchy.

From the figures quoted above, one can say with considerable justification that the Federal Government of Nigeria has partly kept its own terms of the ASUU-FGN 2025 Agreement and it is left for visitors of state universities in Nigeria to simulate the example of the six other visitors of states universities cited above.
Lest we forget, Education, whether at the Federal or State levels, remains a basic human right as outlined in article 26 of the Universal Declaration of Human rights, article 28 of the Convention on the rights of the child and article 11 of the African charter of the rights and welfare of the child. All these Conventions emphasize the need for the state to provide free and compulsory basic education.

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Another challenge in the higher education sector is the incessant establishment of universities in Nigeria. We find ourselves in a situation where universities are established not for pragmatic reasons but just to score some cheap pollical points. As a matter of fact, the idea of the university as the ‘ivory tower’ has been completely eroded in Nigeria and we fear that one day every Nigerian Senator shall have a university located at his very backyard. Just look at this: Nigeria hosts 312 universities (77 federal, 67 state, and 168 private). By contrast, the United Kingdom, a nation with a far stronger economy and a firm commitment to educational quality, has approximately 163 universities. South Africa, the continent’s most developed economy, has only 26 public universities. Kenya has 64 universities (37 public and 27 private). And this explains why foreign universities are considered among the best in global university rankings. Is it surprising that many Nigerian students flock to foreign universities to acquire higher education? Here again, the National Universities Commission (NUC), has played a quisling role.

It seems clear that the Commission lacks the capacity to effectively perform its role as a regulatory body saddled with the responsibility of enhancing quality in the university system. Rather, the Commission encourages the establishment of private universities charging extortionate fees which are not commiserate to the services offered and which are essentially profit-driven. ASUU’s demand for a review of the laws governing the NUC and JAMB, therefore, is truly justified. In Nigeria, private universities consider their students as customers because of their financial capacity to pay exorbitant school charges.
But apart from the signed Agreement, there are other outstanding issues like the release of withheld three and half months salaries, sustainable funding of public universities, revitalization of public universities, cessation of the victimization of ASUU members in LASU, Kogi State University and FUTO, payment of outstanding 25-35 % salary arrears, payment of promotion arrears and the release of withheld third party deductions.
Looking back, it seems clear that the FGN has treated ASUU so monstrously.

From the regime of Babangida to Obasanjo, to that of Yaradua, to Jonathan and Buhari to Tinubu it has been the same farcical drama of sham, indifference and disdain. Promises were made but not fulfilled, negotiations began and were stopped only to begin again and stop. For the past three decades, no Nigerian leader has dealt with the ASUU- FGN agreement seriously, sincerely, honestly and honorably. It is expected that the Nigerian leadership should prioritize education and burnish our universities up to international standards.

From 1992 to date, the rot in the University system has continued unabated. Nigerian Universities hold up their decaying buildings and potholed roads as physical emblems of a deeper malaise. Nigerian University teachers have embarked on several warning strikes and sometimes indefinite strikes all in an attempt to press the Nigerian government to tread the path of honor by respecting its promises. But strikes could be avoided in our ivory towers if the Nigerian leadership lives up to its social responsibility of providing education for all its citizens. How can posterity believe that their parents were responsible for the present rot in the education sector? It is common knowledge that in Nigeria students do not pass through the Universities anymore, they merely survive through them. In Nigerian universities, graduation is not a dream come true, it is the other end of a long chaotic nightmare because the facilities that could make learning a pleasure are non-existent.

The only peaceful solution is for all visitors of State Universities in Nigeria to direct the immediate implementation of the 2025 FGN/ASUU Agreement, and to address all other lingering issues in their respective universities. The FGN has released funds to both Federal and state universities and for any state Governor to refuse to implement the FGN-ASUU 2025 is , to say the least, the height of criminality. Finally, this is also the right time for all well-meaning Nigerians, parents, traditional rulers, the clergy, the Press and other stakeholders to mount pressure on state governments to do the needful in order to ensure industrial peace on university campuses in Nigeria.
But it is left to be said that, from all indications, the Federal Government has only scorched the snake, it is yet to kill it.

ON THE IMPLEMENTATION OF THE ASUU-FGN 2025 AGREEMENT

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Can a School Founded by a Public University Truly Be Called Private?

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Can a School Founded by a Public University Truly Be Called Private?

Can a school founded by a public university truly be called private?

By Maroof Asudemade

The recent Court of Appeal judgment on the International School, Ibadan (ISI) hijab case has reopened a constitutional debate that extends well beyond school uniforms. At the heart of the controversy lies a fundamental question: Can a school established by a public university legitimately be regarded as a private institution for the purpose of limiting constitutional rights?

This intervention is not intended to question the wisdom of the Court of Appeal’s decision or to relitigate the merits of the hijab controversy. Rather, it seeks to examine the broader constitutional and legal implications arising from the court’s reported characterisation of International School, Ibadan (ISI) as a private school.

According to reports, the Court of Appeal held that ISI is a private institution and that parents and students who voluntarily accepted the school’s code of conduct are bound by its provisions, including restrictions on the wearing of the hijab. While contractual obligations deserve respect, the broader constitutional question remains unresolved.

The University of Ibadan (UI) is not a private enterprise. It is Nigeria’s premier public university, established by law, owned by the Federal Government of Nigeria, and funded through public resources. International School, Ibadan, founded by the university in 1963, was created as part of the institution’s educational mission. It was not established by private investors, a religious organisation or an independent educational trust, but by a public institution acting in the public interest.

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This raises an important legal question. If a public university establishes a school, appoints its governing authorities, determines its policies and exercises ultimate oversight, on what legal or constitutional basis does that school become a private institution? Does the collection of tuition fees automatically transform a publicly established institution into a private one? If that reasoning is accepted, should fee-paying public universities themselves also be regarded as private institutions? The answer is far from obvious and deserves careful legal scrutiny.

The significance of this issue extends well beyond the ongoing ISI hijab case. It raises broader questions about the constitutional responsibilities of institutions created, owned and controlled by the state. If publicly established institutions can avoid constitutional obligations simply by being described as private entities, then the protection of fundamental rights may become increasingly dependent on administrative policies rather than constitutional guarantees.

This argument should not be interpreted as suggesting that schools should be stripped of the authority to maintain discipline or prescribe dress codes. Uniform policies remain an essential aspect of school administration, helping to promote order, equality and institutional identity. However, where such policies intersect with constitutionally protected rights, particularly freedom of religion, the law should strive to achieve a careful balance instead of assuming that contractual consent automatically overrides constitutional protections.

The central constitutional issue is therefore not whether International School, Ibadan has the authority to regulate its students. Rather, it is whether a school established, owned and supervised by a public university should simultaneously enjoy the legal privileges associated with a private institution while benefiting from the public status, legitimacy and authority of its parent institution.

The conversation may now need to move beyond the courtroom. The National Assembly, education policymakers, constitutional scholars and the wider public should consider whether Nigeria’s laws provide sufficient clarity regarding the legal status of schools established by public universities. Greater legislative certainty would help prevent future disputes and ensure that the constitutional rights and responsibilities of such institutions are clearly defined.

The ISI hijab controversy may ultimately reach a final legal resolution. However, the broader constitutional question is likely to remain relevant long after the current dispute has ended.

When does an institution created, owned and controlled by the public cease to be public?

Until that question receives a clear legal answer, debates over the constitutional status of schools established by public universities are likely to continue.

Can a school founded by a public university truly be called private?

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The Phantom Presidential Council scandal, By Farooq Kperogi

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The Phantom Presidential Council scandal, By Farooq Kperogi

The Phantom Presidential Council scandal, By Farooq Kperogi

first received a WhatsApp forward about the scandal from notable University of Texas history professor Toyin Falola. I didn’t read it. I thought it was just another corruption scandal, the sort I have become tragically inured to.

A few days later, my friend Professor Moses Ochonu forwarded another version of it to me. I told him Professor Falola, mentor to both of us, had already sent it to me but that I didn’t bother to read it because I had become jaded on issues like that. But social media soon became suffused with different tidbits of the scandal, and I could no longer ignore it.

I am now suspending the travelogue I had planned to write on my recent visit to Trinidad and Tobago where I was invited to deliver a keynote address at an international conference on media and communication. Nigeria, as it often does, has imposed its madness on my literary itinerary.

The story is almost too insane to be true. A certain Prince Adeniyi Adeyemi Mathew, also written in official statements as Adeyemi Adeniyi Matthew, presented himself as Director-General of the Presidential Foreign Intervention Promotion Council, sometimes twinned with the Presidential Economic Advisory Council.

The Presidency now says the body does not exist. In a June 11 disclaimer and a fuller July 1 statement, the State House said Adeyemi was an impostor, that his appointment letter was forged, that he falsely paraded himself as a presidential appointee and that the police had already filed criminal charges against him.

According to the Presidency, the drama began when the Nigerian Investment Promotion Commission complained in October 2025 that another supposed government body was operating in its orbit. Foreign Affairs also reportedly grew uneasy after Adeyemi held meetings with ambassadors. The Chief of Staff, Femi Gbajabiamila, then wrote the DSS and the Police to investigate what he described as forged appointment letters.

Adeyemi was later arrested at an office in the Federal Secretariat Complex in Abuja. Police reportedly searched his office and residence, found documents they characterized as forged and accused him of operating 34 bank accounts, including nine in the names of allegedly fictitious entities.

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The Presidency says he even used his papers to open a CBN account by misleading the Office of the Accountant-General of the Federation, although no government money was transferred into the account.

If that were all, this would be a straightforward story of a brazen con man who found a costume in the wardrobe of power and decided to wear it. But that is not all.

Before the Presidency disowned him, Adeyemi and his council were not anonymous. He led a management team to the EFCC headquarters. Premium Times reported that the visit was part of a partnership to strengthen Nigeria’s investment climate ahead of a proposed World Investment Summit.

PM News similarly reported that EFCC Chairman Ola Olukoyede received him and his team. In the images and accounts that circulated later, the EFCC encounter took on even more symbolic weight because of claims that Adeyemi received an EFCC plaque. Whether or not every detail of that ceremonial exchange survives independent verification, the larger fact is that a supposed fake agency gained access to the nation’s foremost anti-corruption institution, among several prominent institutions.

Perhaps the most curious is the council’s appearance in the national budget. ICIR and Channels TV reported that the council was captured in the 2026 budget with more than N1.3 billion. That single fact turns this from a case of impersonation into a study in state porosity.

An impostor can print a fake letter. He can design a fake letterhead. He can borrow solemn English from government circulars and paste a coat of arms on a document. But how does a nonexistent presidential council find its way into the budget?

The .gov.ng domain controversy deepens the absurdity. Nigeria’s .gov.ng domain is not supposed to be bought from roadside web designers. It is reserved for government institutions and requires official authorization and verification.

If pfipc.gov.ng existed, and if it passed through the required government gatekeeping protocols, then somebody either forged papers successfully through a sleeping verification system or someone within the state gave it a helping hand. Either possibility is damning.

Adeyemi, for his part, has not gone quietly. He says he had a genuine appointment. He has accused Gbajabiamila of collecting N400 million through a proxy, demanding another N200 million and asking for 48 percent of a purported N27.4 billion take-off grant. He says his refusal to surrender the share caused his troubles.

These are grave allegations, but they are still allegations. So far, the public has not seen bank records, messages, recordings and receipts that would independently establish them.

Adeyemi is not a neutral witness in his own cause, so we can’t assume the facticity of his claims on face value. The Presidency and TheCable have drawn attention to his earlier public self-fashioning as a leader of the World Youth Organisation, which Nigerian newspapers once reported as an affiliate of the United Nations.

That claim later came under challenge because no such UN youth organ existed in the form he presented it. In other words, the man at the center of the PFIPC scandal appears to have a prior history of manufacturing proximity to grand institutions.

But the Presidency should not celebrate too quickly. Adeyemi’s credibility problems do not absolve the state. A thief who steals police uniform is a criminal. But if he uses the uniform to sleep in police barracks, command patrol vans, receive salutes from officers and collect allowances from the police budget, the scandal no longer belongs to the thief alone. It belongs to the police.

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That is why the most plausible explanation is not a tidy binary. It is not simply that Adeyemi beat the system. Nor is it yet proven that Gbajabiamila co-designed the scheme and later turned on him after a quarrel over loot sharing.

The evidence available to the public supports a more troubling middle ground. Adeyemi was likely the prime mover of an elaborate institutional fraud, but he almost certainly benefited from either complicity, negligence or the habitual stupidity of Nigerian bureaucracy.

There are global parallels, but none is an exact twin. In Gujarat, India, a man named Sandeep Rajput allegedly created a fake Irrigation Project Division office, forged seals and signatures, submitted official-looking proposals and got more than 40 million Indian rupees in government grants released. That is probably the closest parallel because it involved not just impersonation but entry into public finance.

Also in India, Kiran Patel allegedly posed as an official of the Prime Minister’s Office and enjoyed official security and hospitality in Jammu and Kashmir before his arrest. His case resembles Adeyemi’s use of proximity to the presidency as a password to bureaucratic reverence.

In China, Zhao Xiyong posed as a State Council official, toured provinces, gave speeches and was received by local leaders who apparently lacked the courage or curiosity to ask basic questions.

In Ghana, a fake U.S. embassy operated for years, issued counterfeit visas and survived partly because corrupt officials were reportedly paid to look away.

These cases tell us something universal about power. Bureaucracies worship symbols. A seal, a title, a convoy, a letterhead, a foreign-sounding summit, a grandiose acronym and a confident fool in a well-cut suit can suspend institutional reason. In societies where hierarchy is fetishized, verification is often treated as disrespect or, as we like to say in Nigeria, “rudeness to constituted authority.”

The Nigerian state is at once overbearing and absent, performative and incompetent, obsessed with protocol but contemptuous of process. It will ask a poor widow for a sworn affidavit before paying her pension arrears but will allow a phantom council to stroll through elite institutions with the swagger of presidential legitimacy.

The question Nigerians should insist on is not merely whether Adeyemi forged documents. The Presidency has made that case and the court will decide. The bigger question is who opened the doors.

Who gave him office space? Who received his letters? Who cleared his delegation? Who processed his domain? Who inserted or failed to remove the budget line? Who saw the words “Presidential Foreign Intervention Promotion Council” and did not ask, “Which law created this body?”

The scandal is not that Nigeria produced a man audacious enough to impersonate the state. Every country produces such men. The scandal is that the Nigerian state, with all its security agencies, protocol offices, budget departments, domain regulators and anti-corruption theatrics, may have been too hollow to notice that it was being impersonated from within its own shadow.

Adeyemi may yet be shown to be a lone con artist. Gbajabiamila may yet be vindicated. Or an independent investigation may uncover something darker. But what the public already knows is enough to indict the system. A government that can be mimicked this successfully has already confessed to being indistinguishable from its counterfeit.

 

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

 

The Phantom Presidential Council scandal, By Farooq Kperogi

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