Opinion
IGP Disu: Inside the rotting walls of Zone II
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
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
FIFTY YEARS AFTER “AFRICA HAS COME OF AGE”: A PERSONAL REFLECTION ON NIGERIA’S SILENCE AT THE UNITED NATIONS
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.
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.
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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Opinion
Ortom and His 23 Cars’ ‘Bonus’, by Dele Sobowale
Ortom and His 23 Cars’ ‘Bonus’, by Dele Sobowale
“As I talk to you, after I left office, vehicles that were given to me legitimately by government, this government went and seized them in a manner that was not befitting.” – Former Governor Samuel Ortom of Benue State
Last week, former Governor Donald Duke of Cross River declared that military rule was, in many respects, better than civil rule since 1999.
I cannot agree more.
I had the privilege of visiting about seven former military governors before 1999.
No military governor had up to 23 cars assigned to the Governor’s Office or residence.
By contrast, since 1999, a civilian governor with only 23 cars in the office alone would be regarded as extremely prudent.
Many have 50 or more.
Ortom’s 23 cars have triggered a dispute. Governors, on their way out of office, routinely take what they deem as their entitlements and thus render their states poorer than they met them.
Most commentaries on Ortom’s 23 cars have been superficial.
The impression they have created is that only 23 cars were taken away.
Nothing can be further from the truth.
Ortom was not the only beneficiary of that largesse.
It is quite possible that over 100 cars were taken away as parting gifts – with Ortom’s approval – as I will explain shortly.
Ortom revealed the hidden truth by saying, with a straight face, that the vehicles were allocated to him and other members of his administration through the State Executive Council, SEC, after they had been used for more than four years.
It was the worst defence for an assault on public funds ever uttered by a former official.
It provided a window into the minds of top government officials everywhere – irrespective of political party affiliation.
Every State Executive Council, SEC, comprises the governor, the deputy governor, the Secretary to the State Government and commissioners.
All the others are selected or appointed by the governor and, with the exception of the deputy governor, can be removed from office.
In other words, the SEC is created by the governor and can take no independent decision of its own.
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It is not an autonomous body.
Stripped of the subterfuge surrounding it, the decision to allocate 23 cars to Ortom amounted to the governor deciding to go home with the cars and getting his echoes in the SEC to endorse it.
Ortom, inadvertently, disclosed that more cars than 23 were driven home by his government officials when he claimed that the SEC allocated the vehicles in dispute to him “and other members of his administration”.
Since “the other members of his administration” start with the SEC, it stands to reason that the deputy governor, the Secretary to the State Government, all the commissioners, the Chief of Staff, several Special Advisers, heads of state agencies, etc., were also allowed to go home with cars declared over four years old – even if by one day.
Nobody has documented the number of cars Ortom and “the other members of his administration” took away. Over 100 vehicles might be involved.
That leads to the next question because it strikes at the heart of why poverty is increasing in Nigeria.
IS A CAR FOUR YEARS OLD READY FOR THE JUNKYARD?
Most Nigerians known to me, including those driving corporate official cars, are driving vehicles more than five years old.
Mine is 12 years old and can still break the speed limit anywhere in the world.
I also own a LAGRIDE taxi, now four years old.
The Chinese-made car was offered four years ago at N4.8 million, with a down payment of N1.82 million and the balance to be paid in instalments. Today, the car costs N25 million new, and offers have been made to buy my used one for N11–N13 million.
Obviously, when any government gives away, at far less than market value, to departing officials, the public loses.
Ortom’s 23 cars, as well as the others allocated to members of his administration, would have fetched almost five times what the officials paid for them.
To put the matter in perspective, Benue State would have to pay nothing less than N6 trillion just to replace the vehicles.
Left untouched is the question: What else was taken away – furniture, generators, air-conditioners, borehole pumps?
Outgoing officials are never satisfied with taking cars with them.
“Laws grind the poor, and rich [as well as powerful] men rule the law.” – Oliver Goldsmith, 1728–1774
The other half of his self-defence concerns the legality of the allocations.
That the law is an ass has been well established; so is the fact that what we often call law might be injustice codified.
Strictly speaking, everything Abacha did was supported by laws passed as decrees. Justice was never considered.
Civilian governments also make laws which are inherently unjust to the masses.
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The regulation allowing some public servants appointed by the governor to take away very useful public properties cannot be regarded as equitable, given the fact that those who served for 30 or 35 years cannot take away a single pin without being prosecuted.
What exactly does an outgoing governor want to do with 23 cars?
MEANWHILE, GOVERNOR ALIA SETS BACK DEMOCRACY IN BENUE
Governor Hyacinth Alia, a Catholic cleric, honourably fought for justice by having the 23 cars taken away by Ortom retrieved.
It is not clear whether other cars allocated by Ortom’s SEC members were also seized.
If not, the measure would appear personal and discriminatory.
It would appear to be partial justice and tainted with vendetta.
Frequently, individuals transiently invested with near-absolute power, like Nigerian governors, cross the thin line between the divine and the ridiculous within a short time.
When Alia, for the second time, blocked Peter Obi from moving freely about in Benue State, he betrayed democracy and the Constitution of Nigeria he swore to uphold.
He failed the democracy test. He even failed the test of advanced education.
His tenure is limited by the Constitution. Obviously, he will become an ex-governor one day – without armed escorts to protect him and clear the way.
He has established a precedent which will make it legitimate for any governor in Nigeria to block his right of passage.
Two examples in Nigerian history should serve as a warning to Alia.
Military Head of State Obasanjo passed the decree under which General Gowon would have been executed in 1976 – if Britain had not granted the deposed leader political asylum.
The same decree, with slight amendment, was used by Abacha to nail his former boss.
He was saved by divine intervention.
Malam El-Rufai, as governor of Kaduna State, had critics living in other states arrested, brought to Kaduna State and detained without bail for days – before media protests got them released on bail.
Today, El-Rufai is in detention by the DSS and ICPC, without bail for almost six months.
The same media, held in contempt by El-Rufai, has now undertaken the campaign to get him released.
As one of our founding fathers, Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe, reminded us before passing to eternal life: “No condition is permanent.”
Governor Alia should climb down from his high horse and apologise to Obi and Nigerians.
Ortom and His 23 Cars’ ‘Bonus’, by Dele Sobowale
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Opinion
2027: Competence, Not Zoning, Should Decide Nigeria’s Next President — Imasuagbon
Nigerians should look beyond ethnicity, region and the longstanding debate over rotational presidency when choosing the country’s next leader, according to a chieftain of the African Democratic Congress (ADC), Kenneth Imasuagbon.
The former Edo State governorship aspirant said the priority ahead of the 2027 election should be finding a president with the ability to confront Nigeria’s economic, security and infrastructure challenges.
Speaking to journalists in Benin, Imasuagbon argued that presidential rotation is not a requirement of the Nigerian Constitution and should therefore not outweigh the question of competence.
He said voters should be more concerned about replacing poor schools with better ones, improving healthcare and addressing hardship than debating where the next president comes from.
Imasuagbon specifically appealed to voters in the South to support former Vice President Atiku Abubakar, who is contesting the 2027 presidency on the ADC platform.
According to him, Atiku has demonstrated the experience and determination needed to improve the country, describing the former vice president as someone capable of promoting national unity and fairness.
He also accused the Bola Tinubu administration of worsening economic pressure through policies including the removal of fuel subsidy, while expressing concern about the condition of roads, electricity and other infrastructure.
Imasuagbon argued that the next administration must focus on practical improvements in areas such as power, transportation, employment, security and public services.
The ADC chieftain also dismissed the idea that the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) would automatically benefit from its incumbency advantage in 2027.
He maintained that the electorate ultimately determines the outcome of an election, arguing that voters could change the political direction of the country if they were determined to do so.
Imasuagbon further criticised what he described as regional and ethnic considerations in the distribution of political appointments and opportunities, insisting that the next president should give Nigerians across different parts of the country a sense of belonging.
His comments come as political parties and their candidates intensify preparations for the 2027 presidential election.
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