The day alcohol showed me shégè - Newstrends
Connect with us

Opinion

The day alcohol showed me shégè

Published

on

Tunde Odesola
Tunde Odesola

The day alcohol showed me shégè
(1)

Tunde Odesola

(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, January 10, 2025)

I told this true-life story to my children a long time ago. But I censored its indecent climax because of their young age. Today, I’m going to tell it in full because they have come of age. I don’t mean this story to be a comedy. I mean it to be a piece over which guardians, parents, teachers, mentors and all can chew the cud and consider which tactic is more effective in child upbringing: spare the rod or spank the child?

Growing up under my parents’ roof, the Holy Bible was worshipped. If it mistakenly falls down from your hands, you must fast for a day. That was the unwritten law enforced by my mother. Every child owned a Bible and a bed. Your Bible must be under or beside your pillow, and your bed must be neat because father and mother drummed it into our ears that cleanliness was next to godliness.

A verse in the Book of Proverbs 13:24 that says, “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” was a refrain within the family. Its corollary in the same Book of Proverbs 22:15 (New Living Translation) says, “A youngster’s heart is filled with foolishness, physical discipline will drive it far away.” In its version, God’s Word Translation of the Bible says, “Foolishness is firmly attached to a child’s heart. Spanking will remove it far from him,” and the New King James version says, “Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child; The rod of correction will drive it far from him.”

But my literate parents will never quote any of the English interpretations. They prefer the Yoruba version which talks about the MADNESS in the heart of a child and the need for exorcising it with a cane: “Àyà omodé nì wèrè dì sí, egba ló máa túu.” I think they quote the Yoruba version to amplify the lodging of madness in a child’s mind and justify their deployment of the cane.

Therefore, canes were part of our home’s furnishings but many of the canes vanished into the thin air without me knowing anything about how they disappeared, I swear.

READ ALSO:

In the Holy Quran, Prophet Mohammed (SAW) orders the beating of a child for purposes of correction.

Because I was growing like a rampant corn stalk in raining season, mother soon abandoned caning me as each flogging episode was akin to wrestling that left her with body aches. Then, she employed ìfótí olóòyì aka brain-resetting slaps but when I blocked her slaps repeatedly with my bony arms and her wrists hurt, she jettisoned that idea, too. She finally resorted to verbal chastisement and threat, “You wait till your father returns from work and see if I won’t report you to him.” And she always made good her threat.

My father was predictable. The first thing he does when he comes back from work is go on his knees and pray. The second thing he does is get a bath. Food is the third. If my mother told him about my sins as soon as he got home, he would order me to stoop down while he got a bath and ate. As a child, I used to think the punishment was called ‘stood down’.

It’s the foolish that gets famished when fasting, goes a Yoruba proverb. When my father was out of sight, I would sit on the floor and listen attentively to pick up his footfalls. If my mother passed by and saw me observing the punishment in breach, she would complain loudly so my father could hear I wasn’t doing what he ordered me to do. Double wàhálà.

At times, when I rush to bed before nightfall in order to evade the arrival of my father, my mother would barge into my room without knocking, upon the arrival of her husband, and peel my blanket off me, announcing with relish, “Daddy e ti de. O n pe e” – “Your daddy is back, he’s calling you.”

To picture the state of my mind whenever I ‘stood down’ waiting for sentencing is to imagine the mind of a goat cornered by a lion. I was the stubborn goat, my father was the lion.

That was the kind of house that produced me. A house of five male children and a female. A house that requites good deeds with rewards and punishes wrongdoing severely. I remember everything clearly. I remember we, the children, had Chopper bicycles. I remember plucking out my eyelashes and putting them on my head as a fetish for my parents to forget my wrongdoings and not punish me. Sometimes, it worked; sometimes, it didn’t. In all this, I always remembered the son of whom I am.

But, reminiscing on my secondary school days, I arrived at the intersection of doubt as to my long-held belief that sparing the rod spoils the child. When you’re raised in my kind of home, the tendency is for you to agree that the use of the rod was divine and productive.

However, I have some doubts today. Today, I’d rather a cane was kept at home, used rarely, while moral suasion took centre stage in child upbringing.

I lay the validity of my argument on this story below.

At the Archbishop Aggey Memorial Secondary School, Mushin, we were four bright friends – Akeem Adigun, Akinade Ayodeji, Jide Oladimeji and my humble self.

READ ALSO:

We had some other friends who were not bright. When examination approached, some of my struggling friends would ask me a favour – to sit with me during the exam period. But only one student could sit beside me in an examination. So, to grant their requests, I devised a plan that we all should sit in the same row, with a bright student pairing with a dull student.

In the early 80s, there was an Italian wrestling duo – Gino Brito and Dino Bravo – called the ‘Love Brothers’ of the International Wrestling Federation fame. We adopted their name, Love Brothers.

My house was a favourite rendezvous for the Love Brothers because it offered eat-in food and grocery takeaways from my mother. One day, we carried our sàárà food offering past the mosque when we went to Akeem’s house.

Akeem was living with his foster parents in a three-storey building right at Olorunsogo bus stop, Mushin. We all pass by his house to and fro school.

On this particular ‘ojo buruku esu gbomimu’ day, I think someone said he wanted to drink water. Instead of waiting downstairs for Akeem to go and bring water, we all ran to the topmost floor.

Instead of allowing Akeem to bring water from their tall refrigerator, some of us ran towards it, each curious rat wanting to behold the occupants of the refrigerator. When Akeem opened the fridge, we saw water, food and more.

We saw rows and rows of assorted beers imprisoned in the bowel of the refrigerator, begging to be set free. And we did set some beers free together with the pots of rice and soup in the refrigerator. We all departed happily thereafter.

The next morning, I saw Akeem in front of the assembly ground while students were singing devotional hymns. He wasn’t standing alone. His foster mother was beside him. Right behind them were some fearsome male teachers. Akeem was staring at the floor.

After the day’s announcements were made and the national anthem and pledge were rendered, students sang as they marched to their various classrooms. The first to go were Class One students of various arms, followed by Classes Two and Three students.

The die is cast. I watched him pick out his fellow criminals – Jide, Akin etc – as they were marching to class. Quickly, I sneaked from the rows of the knicker-wearing junior classes, where I belonged, to Class Four row, which was trousers-wearing.

Luckily for me, some Class Four students wear shorts even though the right uniform for them to wear was a light blue shirt over dark blue trousers.

Life and its absurdities. The dream of every Class Three male student was to wear trousers when they got to Class Four, yet some Class Four male students refused to wear trousers when the handle of the machete was in their hands. Left-Right! Leff-Rai!! I marched with senior students past Akeem who wasn’t expecting me in Class Four.

After escaping the assembly crackdown, I fled to the school farm. Akeem’s co-conspirators, who were not ferreted out at the assembly ground, were picked up in the classroom. Although no bounty was placed on my head, a manhunt was declared for me while I nestled under cocoyam leaves on the school farm, pretending to be reading.

Intelligence soon reached the staffroom and a crack team of hefty seniors was dispatched to arrest me dead or alive. To date, I do not know the Judas who sold me out. When emissaries from the staffroom stormed the school farm, I submitted myself like a lamb, and they led me to Golgotha.

To be continued.

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

X: @Tunde_Odesola

The day alcohol showed me shégè

Opinion

Super Bowl: Can Africa Spring Up anew?

Published

on

Super Bowl: Can Africa Spring Up anew?

With a landmass of approximately 9.83 million km² and a population of 334–336 million as of 2025—making it the third-largest country in the world—the United States is massive. It is four times the size of Algeria, Africa’s largest country, and dwarfs Nigeria, the continent’s most populous nation.

 

​The United States is a titan among nations. Who knows—perhaps neologists will coin a new term if the U.S. eventually purchases or forcefully takes Greenland from Denmark, further surging its landmass and population. When this massive scale fuses with unparalleled infrastructure, world-class venues, and a vast market, the USA becomes an ideal host for international sporting events with strong returns on investment.

 

​Between 1904 and 2025, the USA hosted one FIFA World Cup (with another to be co-hosted in 2026 with Mexico and Canada), four Summer Olympics, four Winter Olympics, and one FIBA Basketball World Cup. Unlike soccer, which is still finding its footing in the United States—even with Major League Soccer (MLS) having existed for 30 years—American football is the undisputed number-one sport. The Super Bowl—born from Lamar Hunt’s “light-bulb moment”—is the crown jewel. The Super Bowl has become what sociologists call a secular ritual, binding the social fabric of Americans together.

 

​Beyond the Vince Lombardi Trophy, the Super Bowl has evolved into a global marketing masterpiece. From the famous 1984 Apple commercial introducing the Macintosh, which is studied in MBA classes worldwide, to the 1979 Mean Joe Greene Coca-Cola commercial that showed genteel human warmth winning over fearsomeness, the intentionality of brands going head-to-head with rivals has been a recurring feature of every Super Bowl.

 

​While the USA is always attractive for hosting events, the Super Bowl’s success pivots on intellection that results in ingenious marketing. For the recent Super Bowl LX on February 8, 2026, two brands mirrored David Ben-Gurion’s principle of “taking the fight to the enemy.” Pepsi and Anthropic’s Claude entered with an offensive strategy: Claude’s AI ad—“Ads are coming to AI. But not to Claude.”—was a calculated strike in the competitive AI market, while Pepsi’s polar bear blind test revived the sulphurous rivalry with Coca-Cola. Many companies use their ad slots to build brand identity and equity or announce arrival in the business world.

 

Where does Africa stand in this Super Bowl business and sports calculus? While developed nations are making groundbreaking launches with chutzpah and creativity from creative shops—all resulting in a participatory economy—Africa’s involvement is largely an on-the-field display of Négritude spirit and ravenous passion.

 

​For Africa, the Super Bowl has become a “badge of honor” through representation. Mohammed Elewonibi, a Nigerian raised in Canada, was the first player of African origin to win a Super Bowl (XXVI, 1992, with the Washington Redskins). Since then, nearly 41 players of Nigerian origin or heritage have won—the most of any African country—including six who tasted victory with the recent Seattle Seahawks: Uchenna Nwosu, Nick Emmanwori, Boye Mafe, Jaxon Smith-Njigba (of Nigerian and Sierra Leonean roots), Jalen Milroe, and Olu Oluwatimi.

 

​Yet, as impressive as African athletes are in making the continent proud, we have blatantly failed to translate that audience engagement into commercial windfalls like the Super Bowl on home soil. It is appalling that most of Africa’s sporting events—the Durban July Handicap, Senegalese wrestling (Laamb), or the Safari Rally—have not fully harnessed the intersection of sports and marketing. Even the Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON), despite its 3.45 billion cumulative viewers (far surpassing the Super Bowl’s ~125–127 million), lacks comparable marketing prestige. Why are there no global product launches during our matches? Why aren’t AI giants capitalizing on Africa’s tech startup boom?

 

​Africa is being fed celery when it deserves the whole salad. This asymmetry stems from structural economic factors, but the genie is out of the bottle—we must be forward-looking. To turn African sporting events into “goldmines,” we must reinvent the industry, much as Cirque du Soleil did for the circus. Facing declining audiences, rising costs, and fierce competition, it lost its grip on the circus business. Cirque, however, escaped the dying circus business by reinventing it.

 

​By viewing competition through a new lens, Africa can transform massive viewership into unparalleled economic advantage and value. Just as Cirque du Soleil created uncontested market space, African sports must adopt what W. Chan Kim and Renée Mauborgne called a “Blue Ocean Strategy”—creating uncontested market space and making competition irrelevant. Much as we can not compete toe to toe with advanced economies , we should not follow them like zombies.

 

​In their book Blue Ocean Strategy: How to Create Uncontested Market Space and Make the Competition Irrelevant, the authors highlight how companies in “red oceans” fight for shrinking profits in crowded, defined markets. African sports events currently sit in those crowded red oceans. To elevate them, we need disruptive leaders willing to venture into untapped markets, create new demand, and unlock unlimited growth opportunities.

 

​Joseph Pine and James Gilmore, in their book The Experience Economy, wrote about the need to transform commodities into experiences. As Africans, we have been able to move our sporting events from the commodity stage to the third stage—service delivery—but the experience stage is the North Star we should aspire to reach.

 

​Our cultures, as varied as they are, define us. Despite dilution by Western civilization, our culture stands uneroded, like the mountains that litter our landscape and serve as a canopy to preserve our common heritage. This means our forefathers took culture into the realm of experience—something we are still grappling with in our sporting spectacles today. For us to make headway, our cultures—already bubbling with experience—must mix seamlessly with our sporting spectacles.

 

​Now is the time to merge cultural events like the Eyo Festival, Argungu Festival, Gnaoua World Music Festival, Osun Osogbo Festival, Meskel Festival, and others with our sporting spectacles—that is the Blue Ocean Strategy. This can only be achieved through close collaboration between leaders in sports administration and marketing professionals selling experiences, and the time is now. As this is done, a line from David Diop’s poem Africa—“That is your Africa springing up anew”—would fill our lips.

​The experience stage is the nirvana!

 

Toluwalope Shodunke

Can be reached via tolushodunke@yahoo.com

 

Super Bowl: Can Africa Spring Up anew?

Continue Reading

Opinion

Dele Momodu vs. Fani-Kayode: The pot fighting the kettle

Published

on

Fani-Kayode, Dele Momodu

Dele Momodu vs. Fani-Kayode: The pot fighting the kettle 

 

Tunde Odesola

 

(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, March 27, 2026)

 

Back in the Italy of 44 BC, there lived a babalawo called Spurinna. Spurinna was a haruspice. In ancient Rome, a haruspice was a priest or soothsayer who practised divination by inspecting the entrails–specifically the liver and gallbladder–of sacrificed animals, to interpret the messages of the gods. Spurinna was popular in his time and was much sought after. He was like Nigeria’s present-day A-list religious leaders.

 

So, it was to Spurinna that the Roman military general, Julius Caesar, went when the exceptionally important month of March beckoned. In ancient Rome, March was the first month of the year and the start of military campaigns and farming seasons. Caesar offered a bull for sacrifice; Spurinna inspected its entrails, communed with the gods, who showed him that the sacrificed bull lacked a heart, a metaphor for the pool of blood ahead.

 

Therefore, the diviner went up to Caesar, hit his staff on the ground, and warned, “Roman General, I see danger in March! Beware of the Ides of March! Danger lurks, Caesar. Yes, the Ides of March, beware!” And he left.

 

But, Caesar, engrossed in statecraft, never remembered the warning until the day the siegecraft of his enemies subdued him at the Senate, and he fell to their swordcraft, as he was stabbed 23 times by his fellow senators, crying, “Et tu, Brute,” at the final stab. Ironically, the assassination that was meant to save the Roman Republic from Caesar’s dictatorship led to its end, giving rise to the Roman Empire.

 

Just like Caesar, two Nigerian politicians, Chief Dele Momodu and Chief Femi Fani-Kayode, in the March of 2026, forgot the Ides of March. They threw caution to the wind and engaged each other in a dogfight that members of the National Union of Road Transport Workers had outgrown. The bloodless power tussle between the forces of Alhaji Tajudeen Baruwa and Alhaji Musiliu Akinsanya aka MC Oluomo over control of the national headquarters of the NURTW in Abuja a few days ago shows that ‘Up National’ members are far more civil than many Nigerian political leaders.

 

If we share the same parentage, both Momodu and Fani-Kayode, at 65, should pick pieces of meat ahead of me at the family table. Ẹ̀gbọ́n Momodu should pick meat before ẹ̀gbọ́n Fani-Kayode because he arrived in the world five months before FFK. By reason of age, both should talk before me in family gatherings. And, I should wash the plates and pots if the three of us had a family cookout, and there was no Reno Omokri, who I’m older than, around. But when old men fight dirty and disrobe themselves in the marketplace, society allows their younger brother to separate them, exorcise the March Madness and call a spade by its proper name.

 

I knew FFK between 2009 and 2010 when he eyed the governorship of Osun State on the ticket of the Peoples Democratic Party. In a field brimming with Ife-born political heavyweights such as Senator Iyiola Omisore, former Attorney General and Commissioner for Justice, Chief Niyi Owolade; former Nigerian Ambassador to Cuba, Senator Segun Bamigbetan-Baju; former Commissioner for Education, Prof Muib Opeloye, etc, the young Fani-Kayode stood little chance in emerging the PDP candidate, despite the ‘it is our turn’ clamour by Ife. Femi Fani-Kayode aspired and failed.

 

Like FFK, Momodu, in 2011, ran for the nation’s presidency on the platform of the National Conscience Party, losing in his ward, where he got just one vote, according to a Vanguard newspaper report. In the PDP presidential primaries, which he contested in 2022, Momodu, who bought the PDP presidential primary form for N50 million, lamented the monetisation of Nigeria’s electoral process. He magnanimously donated copies of his magazine, Ovation, at the PDP primaries.  But, for his troubles, Momodu got the type of fat zero mischievous teachers draw in the books of dullard students. PUNCH newspaper reported that no delegate voted for Momodu.

 

When glitz and glam fuel political aspiration, and public service becomes trackless like a snake crawling on a mountain, prefixes such as ‘former governorship aspirant’ and ‘former presidential candidate’ become mere tickets to the corridors of power.

 

Though both Fani-Kayode and Momodu never won an election, both are streetwise. Both are grandmasters of Nigeria’s prebendal politics. They understand perfectly how the crooked Nigerian system works. They know the power of visibility, timing and positioning. They understand power and its laws. Both know that most Nigerian men and women of power are vulnerable, lonely and insecure creatures who need public validation to ease the guilt their conscience suffers from years of public mismanagement. The brains of Bob Dee and FFK calculate better than the best Casio calculators.

 

When FFK wants something from you, you cannot survive his pressure. During the administration of President Goodluck Jonathan, FFK would daily bombard me with press statements. One day, after speaking with me a couple of times on various press statements, he called me yet again. So, I sighed and sounded sleepy. Quick-minded, FFK noticed the drop in the cadence of my voice and said something like this, “Tunde, I have spoken to you many times today, and on each occasion, your voice was different. How many voices do you have?” I smiled at the other end of the phone, and intoned silently to myself, “I go let you kill me with PDP stories, abi?”

 

For someone who started from scratch, Momodu’s life story resonates with the rags-to-riches tales of resilience and consistency among never-say-die Nigerians. For this, I choose Momodu’s plastic spoon over Fani-Kayode’s silver spoon. Momodu’s youthful life leaves a noticeable trail of labour and salary, while FFK’s life reflects connection and affluence. But that is where my admiration for Momodu stops. The Yoruba say ‘kò sí bí ọ̀bọ ṣe ṣorí, tí ìnàkí o ṣé…’, meaning that there are similarities in the features of the monkey and the gorilla.

 

‘Trouble dey sleep, yanga go wake am’ when Momodu, in a television interview, said the President and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, Bola Tinubu, was a civilian image of former military dictator, General Sani Abacha, the rogue. An angry Fani-Kayode, who had just been named ambassador-designate to Germany by Tinubu, argued that comparing a democratic government to a military regime was a distortion of history. Thus, FFK threw down the gauntlet and flung his hat into the ring, but an unfazed Momodu laced his gloves and rolled on his side into the ring, barechested. No way, we die here today!

 

For calling Tinubu, Fani-Kayode’s current benefactor, a dictator, FFK opened the Book of Remembrance to Chapter 1, and recalled how Dele is ‘friend and brother’ bagged a Third Class degree in Yoruba, and how the late Chief MKO Abiola picked him up from the gutter, washed him, and employed him. Not done yet, Femi, the son of Remi, flipped the Book of Remembrance to Chapter 2, recollecting how unhinged, emotional and illogical his friend, Dele, could be, stressing that he (FFK) had been loyal to the President, unlike Bob Dee, whom he accused of being a back-biter, untrustworthy, and ungrateful individual.

 

FFK said, “Unlike Dele, I did not benefit from him (Tinubu) for close to 40 years, eat from his plate, collect handouts from him, stayed in his house, claim to be his brother and yet refuse to support him in achieving his dream of becoming president.” The former aviation minister went on to call his publisher friend a glutton, saying Momodu’s big size was evidence of his gluttony.

 

Momodu roared back. He grabbed the Book of Response, and read from Chapter 7, saying, “He (Femi Fani-Kayode) went to Cambridge University…but became an enfant terrible, fighting anyone and anything in sight. All supplications and intercessions by friends and family on his behalf have failed to cure his malady. And this is the man President Tinubu is about to unleash on Germany as an ambassador of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, for God’s sake.”

 

Bob Dee did not stop. He attacked Omokri, who was in the same boat with FFK over the issue. He said, “I was going to ignore these two, but later decided to respond to them just in case they thought they could bully me into silence and submission. No, they can’t. They both have no credibility whatsoever.

 

“Together, they have expressed the worst views ever about Bola Tinubu that they will never be able to erase in a million years, except the world finally comes to an end. The only reason I could adduce for Tinubu’s tolerance of both irritants is desperation and his inability to find better people to do the dirty jobs. The brains of these ones have been configured to say anything and delete immediately.

 

“I have never disparaged Tinubu in my life. I have never called him a murderer. I have never called him a drug baron or addict. I’m intelligent enough not to say what I have no proof of. Only morons talk without thinking. I thank God for a good upbringing. I do not fight like pigs. And I have a job and manage my modest income. I’m not seeking government appointments. I know how many times Femi and Reno have reached out to me, privately, either begging for publicity or apologising for attacking me publicly.”

 

But Omokri denied the claims of him reaching out to Momodu, challenging the Edo-born politician to make his claims public. He said the only time he reached out to Momodu was when he urged the opposition stalwart to carry blood thinners such as aspirin along with him because of sudden death associated with frequent flying. He maintained that the Tinubu administration had recorded giant strides in economic growth and security. “Based on the aforementioned statistics devoid of emotions, I put to you that your claims are alarmist and a misrepresentation of the true state of Nigeria and the health of our democracy,” Omokri said.

 

If you think the Momodu–FFK-Omokri fight is a contest between democracy and dictatorship, you are missing the point. No, it’s beyond such smokescreens. Neither is it a struggle between light and darkness, nor is it a tussle between good and evil.

The fight among the estranged friends and the younger Omokri could be deconstructed through a layered prism. Sitting smugly at the heart of the fight is the degeneration of elite political communication, battle over access to power, struggle for relevance in political-media space, egocentrism, and the fleeting nature of loyalty.

 

While Momodu put the loyalty of Fani-Kayode and Omokri to the test of integrity, and found them both falling short, FFK’s recall of how close Momodu was to the late MKO Abiola, and how he (Momodu) later went back and associated with the family of the late dictator, Sani Abacha, after Abiola died, put a big question mark on the honour of  Momodu. The pot knows when the kettle whispers.

 

In October 2025, a former Mayor of Blanco, Texas, Mike Arnold, labelled Omokri a “pathological, habitual liar’ and ‘social media influencer’ who misrepresents facts for political gains. Arnold, the founder of Arise Africa International, was formerly associated with Omokri, but broke up the friendship after enumerating instances of ‘constant, calculated lying’ by Nigeria’s ambassador-designate to Mexico.

 

Arnold accused Omokri of screaming ‘Christian genocide’ during the administration of President Muhammadu Buhari, but turned around to call it a hoax under Tinubu, accusing Omokri of possessing the penchant to flip to the side that holds the fattest chequebook.

 

Omokri never responded to Arnold’s accusations, even as the former mayor accused the ambassador-designate of begging him to cease fire. Uhmm, Omokri, renowned for his caustic wit and quick fingers on the keypad, has never said ‘pim’ in response to Arnold. Does silence mean guilt? Abi, where has Omokri’s courage gone? Arnold said many other unprintable things about Omokri, but Omokri is my aburo, so I won’t drag him.

 

The fight of the Three Lions is not in the interest of Nigeria. All three men are public brands, not just political actors. So the quarrel is also a market contest over visibility. Momodu typifies elder-journalist candour; FFK typifies gladiatorial loyalty; Omokri typifies data-driven regime advocacy. FFK and Omokri write not just to wound Momodu, and vice versa, but each writes to reassure his own constituency that he is still indispensable.

 

The roforofo fight shows that proximity to power in Nigeria speaks the language of outrage, where defenders of incumbency no longer defend policy but often attack dissent as betrayal. It also exposes how fast media and social reaction change once policy debates become public discourse, with the way attention shifted from Tinubu’s alleged authoritarian tendencies to personal attacks.

 

None of Momodu, Fani-Kayode and Omokri was fighting for Nigeria. The three of them are fighting for power.

 

 

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

 

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

 

X: @Tunde_Odesola

 

Dele Momodu vs. Fani-Kayode: The pot fighting the kettle

Continue Reading

Opinion

OPINION: Refining Without Relief: Nigeria In The Midst Of Global Oil Wars!

Published

on

Port Harcourt refinery

OPINION: Refining Without Relief: Nigeria In The Midst Of Global Oil Wars!

The vision was bold. The expectation was clear. And the promise was powerful. When the Dangote Refinery began operations, it was hailed as Nigeria’s long-awaited escape from decades of energy contradiction, which involves exporting crude oil while importing refined fuel at high costs. It was meant to guarantee supply, stabilise prices, conserve foreign exchange, and most importantly, deliver relief to ordinary Nigerians.

What appears to be a distinct contradiction is that, despite months into its operation, a different reality is emerging, with fuel prices rising sharply. Inflationary pressures are intensifying. This occurrence has forced Nigerians to ask a difficult question once again, one that calls for an urgent answer.: Why does a country that produces and refines crude oil still suffer the consequences of global oil shocks?

Looking at the trend, it is clear that the answer lies not just in geopolitics, but in the deeper structure of Nigeria’s oil economy, where global pricing, policy gaps, and now the looming risk of monopoly intersect.

With the recent development, the latest alarming surge in petrol prices has been driven largely by escalating tensions in the Middle East. This is particularly the U.S-Israel strikes on Iran and retaliatory measures from Tehran. A well-known fact is that at the centre of the crisis is the Strait of Hormuz, a vital oil transit route through which a significant portion of global supply flows. Any disruption, even a speculative one, triggers immediate spikes in crude prices.

Within a week, oil prices jumped from the mid-$60 range to nearly $120 per barrel. For global markets, this is expected. For Nigeria, it is devastatingly ironic. This is because, despite having crude oil in abundance and despite refining it locally, Nigeria remains fully exposed and this has continued to re-echo the same ironic question.

In a rare moment of corporate candor, the refinery’s leadership acknowledged this reality. The plant is deeply affected by global shocks. Crude oil, even when sourced locally, is priced at international benchmarks. Shipping costs have surged dramatically, from about $800,000 per tanker to as high as $3.5m. Insurance premiums have climbed, and logistics have become significantly more expensive, with total costs further driving higher.

READ ALSO:

Even more revealing is the refinery’s sourcing structure. Only about 30 per cent – 35 per cent of crude comes from the Nigerian government supply under the crude-for-naira framework. A significant portion is still purchased in U.S. dollars on the open market, while another 30 per cent – 40 per cent is sourced internationally, including from the United States and other regions. This means the refinery is not insulated; it is integrated into the global oil system. The implication is unavoidable as local refining has not translated into local pricing control.

The impact on Nigerians has been immediate and severe as petrol prices have surged from under N800 earlier in the year to over N1,200, and in some regions, it is even more alarming when the prices skyrocketed close to N1,400 per litre. Within weeks, multiple price increases have been recorded, driven largely by global crude price spikes and rising logistics costs. Doubtless, the country has witnessed the consequences ripple across the economy as transport fares rise, food prices increase, businesses struggle with higher operating costs, and inflation accelerates.

The development has attracted the attention of the labour unions and the organised private sector, prompting them to raise concerns and alarm about the consequences of job losses, business closures, and worsening hardship if the trend continues with each passing day, witnessing a daily increase and causing possible artificial scarcity.

Nigeria remains trapped in a painful contradiction. It produces crude oil. It refines crude oil. Yet it cannot protect its citizens from global oil volatility. As Aliko Dangote himself acknowledged, Nigeria has no direct role in the conflict driving these price increases, yet it bears the consequences due to global economic interdependence.

In a real sense, this is the deeper tragedy, as Nigeria has achieved capacity without control.

At the heart of the issue is a structural reality, crude oil is priced globally, not locally. Even under the crude-for-naira arrangement, pricing is benchmarked against international rates. This means refineries pay global crude prices, fuel prices reflect global market conditions, and domestic consumers absorb international shocks. In essence, Nigeria has moved refining home without bringing pricing sovereignty with it.

READ ALSO:

To be fair, the Dangote Refinery has played a stabilising role. Nigeria still enjoys relatively lower petrol prices compared to many global markets. In several countries, supply disruptions have led to panic buying and rationing, while Nigeria has maintained a consistent supply. As the refinery’s CEO aptly noted, what is worse than $120 oil is no oil. The refinery has prevented scarcity, but it has not prevented high prices. Availability, in this case, has not equated to affordability, which is the painful part for the citizens.

While much of the current debate focuses on pricing, another critical issue is quietly taking shape, which is the risk of market concentration. Dangote Refinery deserves credit for its scale and ambition, but scale brings power, and power demands oversight. If fuel importers are gradually pushed out and no competing refineries emerge at scale, Nigeria could find itself transitioning from a public sector monopoly to a private sector dominance led by a single player.

Nigeria has seen this pattern before. In the cement industry, increased domestic production did not necessarily translate into lower prices. Limited competition allowed prices to remain elevated despite local capacity. The same risk now looms in the downstream oil sector. Without competition, price-setting power becomes concentrated, supply risks increase, and consumer protection weakens. In a country with fragile regulatory institutions, this is not a theoretical concern; it is a real and present danger.

No one should perceive this wrongly, because it is important, however, not to misplace blame. It should be made known that the Dangote Refinery is not a charity; it is a private enterprise operating within market realities. It must recover its investment, manage costs, and deliver returns. Its exposure to global pricing is not a failure of intent but a function of the system within which it operates.

READ ALSO:

The real issue lies in the structure of the market and the absence of sufficient competition.

It is no longer news that Nigeria’s downstream sector is now largely deregulated following the removal of fuel subsidies. While deregulation has reduced government fiscal burden and encouraged private investment, it has also exposed consumers to price volatility and limited the scope for intervention, as this has continued to cause pain. Markets, in theory, deliver efficiency, but in practice, they require competition and effective regulation to function properly. Without these, deregulation can simply replace one form of inefficiency with another.

Nigeria does not need to weaken Dangote Refinery; it needs to multiply it. The goal should be to build a competitive refining ecosystem to replace one dominant structure with another. The truth is not far from this, as part of a lasting solution, it requires encouraging new refinery investments, removing bottlenecks for players such as BUA and modular refineries, ensuring transparent crude allocation, providing open access to pipelines and storage infrastructure, and enforcing strong antitrust regulations.

Competition remains the most effective regulator of price, which is sacrosanct and it protects consumers, strengthens supply security, and reduces systemic risk.

This must also be perceived beyond competition, which calls for the government to act strategically. The fact is that when supplying crude to local refineries at discounted or stabilised rates, expanding naira-based transactions, and introducing temporary relief measures during global crises are all viable options that must be put into consideration. Energy is too critical to be left entirely to market forces, especially in a developing economy where millions are highly vulnerable to economic shocks.

It is time that Nigerians understood that the nation’s refining crisis has been decades in the making, and it cannot be solved by a single refinery, no matter how large. If asked, it will be said that this is a fact that can’t be argued. The Dangote Refinery is undoubtedly a turning point, but it will only remain so if it is embedded within broader systemic reform. Otherwise, Nigeria risks replacing one form of dependency with another, from import dependence to domestic concentration.

The question is no longer whether Nigeria can refine crude oil. It can. The real question is whether Nigeria can build a system that ensures fair pricing, competitive markets, consumer protection, and economic resilience, as these are exactly the core answers.

If global conflicts continue to dictate local fuel prices, if monopoly risks go unchecked, and if citizens remain vulnerable despite abundant resources, then the promise of local refining will remain unfulfilled, as it will bring no expected relief.

What is playing out is the well-known fact that in refining, as in democracy, concentration of power is dangerous. And in both, the strongest safeguard remains the same, competition, transparency, and institutions that serve the public interest.

OPINION: Refining Without Relief: Nigeria In The Midst Of Global Oil Wars!

—Blaise, a journalist and PR professional, writes from Lagos and can be reached via: blaise.udunze@gmail.com

Continue Reading
HostArmada Affordable Cloud SSD Shared Hosting
HostArmada - Affordable Cloud SSD Web Hosting

Trending