A Chronicle of Faith Under Fire: Documenting Christian Persecution in Northern Nigeria (1999–2025)

For more than two decades, Northern and Central Nigeria have witnessed recurring waves of violence in which thousands of Christians and other civilians have lost their lives. From the early riots of 1999 to the Boko Haram insurgency and the continuing attacks in the Middle Belt, these tragedies have scarred communities and deepened divisions. This compilation presents a factual record of major incidents affecting Christian populations across the region since 1999 — not to inflame old wounds, but to preserve memory, promote accountability, and call for justice, peace, and reconciliation. Download the pdf in table form here

Bukar Sukar Dimka: The Soldier Who Shook a Nation

Lat Col. BS Dimak

In the dramatic story of Nigeria’s military era, few names evoke as much curiosity, controversy, and reflection as that of Lieutenant Colonel Bukar Sukar Dimka. He was a man of courage and conviction, a soldier who loved his country but whose fateful choices placed him at the center of one of the nation’s darkest political episodes—the failed coup of February 13, 1976. To understand Dimka is to understand the tension between patriotism and ambition, between loyalty and disillusionment, that defined much of Nigeria’s military politics in the 1970s.

Bukar Sukar Dimka was born in 1934 in Numan, in present-day Adamawa State, then part of the Northern Region of colonial Nigeria. Like many young men from the north at the time, he was drawn to the Nigerian Army—a path that promised honor, discipline, and a chance to serve. Dimka joined the military in the 1960s, a period of deep transition as Nigeria moved from colonial rule to independence. He trained both in Nigeria and abroad, acquiring a reputation for fearlessness and outspoken integrity.

Dimka’s early military career coincided with one of the most turbulent periods in Nigeria’s history. The nation’s young democracy had been shaken by coups, counter-coups, and the tragic civil war (1967–1970) that left scars across the federation. Many officers of Dimka’s generation were idealistic but disillusioned—they had witnessed corruption, tribalism, and the erosion of the military’s professionalism. Among them, Dimka stood out as a bold and sometimes defiant personality, unafraid to voice his opinions even when they challenged authority.

During the post-war years, Dimka rose through the ranks, eventually becoming a Lieutenant Colonel and serving as an instructor at the Nigerian Defence Academy (NDA) in Kaduna. There, he was known as an intelligent but strict officer, respected for his tactical knowledge and stern discipline. Yet, beneath that military confidence lay a growing frustration with what he perceived as the decline of moral and political leadership in the country.

That frustration would eventually push Dimka into the pages of history. On February 13, 1976, he led a group of soldiers in a coup attempt aimed at overthrowing the government of General Murtala Ramat Mohammed, who had come to power the previous year through another military coup that ousted General Yakubu Gowon. Murtala’s government, though popular for its reformist zeal, had taken tough decisions—retiring senior officers, dismissing corrupt officials, and reshuffling the army hierarchy. These rapid changes created resentment among certain officers who felt marginalized or unfairly treated.

In the early morning of that fateful day, Dimka and his co-conspirators struck in Lagos, the then capital of Nigeria. General Murtala Mohammed, known for his habit of moving without a convoy, was ambushed and assassinated in his black Mercedes Benz at the junction near the Federal Secretariat, Ikoyi. The coup plotters quickly seized the Federal Radio Corporation of Nigeria (FRCN) station, from where Dimka broadcast his now infamous announcement. In that speech, he accused the Murtala government of corruption, dictatorship, and injustice—ironically echoing some of the same ideals Murtala himself had championed.

For a few tense hours, confusion gripped the nation. But unlike previous coups, this one collapsed almost as soon as it began. The loyalty of the majority of the army remained with the government. General Olusegun Obasanjo and Lieutenant General Theophilus Danjuma swiftly mobilized loyal troops to restore order. By the end of the day, the coup had failed, and the conspirators began to scatter.

Dimka fled Lagos, setting off a nationwide manhunt. For nearly three weeks, he evaded capture, reportedly moving through parts of the Middle Belt and Northern Nigeria where he had friends and sympathizers. Eventually, on March 6, 1976, he was captured in Abakaliki, in present-day Ebonyi State, after being recognized and reported.

His arrest marked the beginning of one of the most publicized military trials in Nigeria’s history. A Special Military Tribunal was convened to investigate the coup. Dozens of military and civilian figures were interrogated, including Jonah Deshi Gomwalk, the former Governor of Benue-Plateau State, who was accused of complicity. Dimka, known for his boldness, remained defiant during interrogation, admitting his role but insisting that his intentions were patriotic. He claimed to have acted out of frustration with corruption and mismanagement in government.

Nevertheless, the tribunal found him guilty of treason. On May 15, 1976, Lt. Col. Bukar Sukar Dimka, along with several others, was executed by firing squad at the Kirikiri Maximum Prison in Lagos. His death closed a violent chapter in Nigeria’s military politics but opened decades of debate about his motives and legacy.

In the years since, opinions about Dimka have remained divided. To some, he was a reckless mutineer whose actions robbed Nigeria of one of its most visionary leaders, General Murtala Mohammed, and nearly plunged the country back into chaos. To others, he was a misguided idealist—a soldier who wanted reform but chose a tragic and self-defeating path.

Whatever one’s view, Dimka’s story reflects the turbulent nature of Nigeria’s early post-independence years. It was a time when idealism and ambition collided, when soldiers often saw themselves as the guardians of the nation’s destiny. Dimka was a product of that era—brave, restless, and ultimately consumed by the politics he tried to reshape.

Today, nearly fifty years after his death, Bukar Sukar Dimka remains a cautionary figure in Nigeria’s history. His name serves as a reminder that even noble intentions, when pursued through violence, can lead to destruction. Yet, his story also speaks to the complexity of patriotism—the fine line between reform and rebellion, between courage and tragedy.

In the long sweep of Nigeria’s nation-building, Dimka’s life is both a warning and a lesson: that the true strength of a soldier lies not only in his weapon, but in his wisdom—the ability to fight for justice without destroying the very nation he seeks to defend.

 

D. B. Zang – The Reluctant King of Tin

D B Zang. Source: Zang's family library

In the heart of Plateau, among the highlands that once glittered with tin and promise, rose a man who defied convention, beat the odds, and carved his name into the annals of mining history—D. B. Zang.

What makes Zang’s story extraordinary isn’t just the fortune he built or the empire he commanded—it’s the journey he took without formal education, without privilege, and without ever leaving behind his roots. His life is a testament to raw ambition, street-smarts, loyalty, and contradiction.

The Self-Made Mogul D. B. Zang came from humble beginnings. He had no academic degrees to hang on his wall, no formal training in business or geology. Yet, in a state historically known for its rich tin deposits, Zang saw opportunity where others only saw hardship. With grit and intuition, he worked his way through the ranks—from the dusty periphery of Plateau’s mining fields to becoming the biggest mining mogul in the state.

While other businessmen operated from city centers and global connections, Zang built his fortune from the ground up—literally. His mining ventures thrived, and at his peak, he commanded not only wealth but influence, respect, and fear in equal measure. He employed hundreds and impacted thousands, providing livelihoods in communities where the government barely reached.

A Man of Contrasts Zang was not a conventional man, nor did he try to be. He was a polygamist in the traditional sense, married to several women. Yet among them, one stood apart: his light-skinned wife, whom he openly favored—a fact that stirred emotions both inside and outside his household. She was not just his companion, but a symbol of his preference, perhaps even his soft spot in a life otherwise ruled by steel will and discipline.

Despite his fortune, Zang refused to leave his ancestral home. Where others would have moved to mansions in Jos or even Abuja, he stayed firmly rooted in his village. His compound was modest by the standards of his wealth, but it was his kingdom. The tin king chose tradition over luxury, familiarity over flamboyance.

Those who visited him were often struck by this paradox—a man of enormous means living among his people, hosting business partners and dignitaries from the same compound where he played as a child.

The Final Chapter D. B. Zang passed away in 2008, but his story continues to echo through Plateau State. He left behind not only wealth, wives, and children—but a legacy of possibility. He proved that success doesn’t always wear a suit or speak English fluently. That a man with no formal education could outmaneuver trained professionals, and that you don’t have to leave home to build an empire.

In many ways, Zang embodied the soul of Plateau—rich, grounded, resilient, and unpolished. His life is both a celebration and a caution, depending on which part of it you focus on. But no matter where you stand, one thing is certain:

D. B. Zang was no ordinary man.

He was one of the Extraordinary Men of Plateau.

The Burden of a Legacy: Is Kenyata Hills a "Deadbeat" or a Musical Son Keeping the Flame Alive?

A-I illustration of Joseph and Kenyata Hills

The world of music was struck by a profound loss with the passing of Joseph Hills, the iconic voice and spiritual anchor of the reggae band Culture. His death while on tour in Germany was a tragedy that echoed across the globe, leaving a void in the hearts of reggae lovers. In that moment of crisis, a figure stepped from the shadows into an almost impossible spotlight: his son, Kenyata Hills. Taking the microphone, he helped steer the grieving tour to its completion, a move seen by many as an act of profound courage and filial duty.

Yet, recently, a harsher, more dismissive label has been hurled at Kenyata: "deadbeat." The accusation, often reserved for those who shirk parental or financial responsibilities, seems jarringly out of place when applied to a musician carrying his father's torch. This provokes a necessary debate: what exactly do we owe our parents' legacies, and by what measure do we judge a son like Kenyata?

Those who level the "deadbeat" criticism, while perhaps using inflammatory language, are likely speaking to a deeper, more nuanced disappointment. Their argument hinges on a specific definition of respect for a legacy: preservation, not evolution.

From this perspective, Joseph Hills was not just a singer; he was a vessel for a message. His songs, like "Two Sevens Clash" and "International Herb," were anthems of Rastafari, social justice, and spiritual awakening. The fear is that by simply performing these songs, Kenyata risks reducing a sacred canon to a cover act. Is he interpreting the message with the same lived experience and revolutionary fire? Or is he trading on his father's name, commercializing a legacy that was built on anti-commercial principles?

The term "deadbeat" here is a crude shorthand for the accusation that he is failing in his duty to be a true *custodian*—that he is benefiting from the inheritance without adding the sweat equity of original creativity that made that inheritance valuable in the first place.

To dismiss Kenyata Hills as a "deadbeat" is to ignore the immense weight of the responsibility he shouldered at his father's lowest moment. When Joseph Hills passed, the tour—and the livelihoods tied to it—faced collapse. Kenyata did not run from this crisis; he embraced it. His decision to continue was not an act of opportunism, but one of necessity and respect for the band, the crew, and the fans who had traveled to see Culture.

Furthermore, what is the alternative? Should the music of Joseph Hills fall silent? For countless fans, Kenyata’s performances are a living memorial, a chance to experience the power of his father's words in a live setting, delivered by the one person with a biological and spiritual claim to them. He is not merely a tribute act; he is a direct lineage, a thread connecting the past to the present.

In many cultures, particularly those with strong oral traditions, it is the duty of the child to preserve and share the stories and wisdom of their ancestors. By keeping these songs alive, Kenyata is fulfilling a sacred filial role. He is ensuring that new generations can discover the message of Culture, a service far from the idleness implied by "deadbeat."

The accusation of being a "deadbeat" is not just harsh; it is fundamentally misplaced. It conflates financial or parental neglect with a complex artistic and filial dilemma. Kenyata Hills is demonstrably not idle; he is working, touring, and performing under the immense pressure of a legendary name.

However, the sentiment behind the criticism should not be entirely dismissed. It speaks to a fanbase’s deep love for Joseph Hills and a protective fear that his message might be diluted. The challenge for Kenyata is not to prove he isn't a "deadbeat"—a task he has already accomplished through his actions—but to navigate the delicate balance between preservation and personal expression.

Perhaps the path forward is one of gradual evolution. Maybe his ultimate tribute will be to use the platform his father built to eventually weave his own voice and his own messages into the fabric of the performance, honoring the past while proving he has his own unique contribution to make.

In the end, Kenyata Hills is not a deadbeat. He is a son who answered the call in a moment of tragedy and continues to serve as a keeper of the flame. The debate around him is less about his work ethic and more about the eternal question that haunts all children of icons: How do you walk in a giant's shadow without disappearing into it? That is a journey he is still on, and one he deserves to undertake without the burden of a deeply unfair and simplistic label.

Check out my book, How to Become a Music Maestro: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XQAQ

Afrobeats Slows Down

 By Yiro Abari High

Afrobeats, a contemporary West African music genre that emerged around 2010, quickly expanded its reach to every corner of the globe. It introduced international music fans to artists like Omah Lay, Burna Boy, and Wizkid.

For those who had only heard of new music genres being born but had never witnessed the phenomenon, Afrobeats provided a front-row seat. The genre's simple, fun, and relatable vibe—both in its songs and its dances—captivated fans worldwide. With this appeal, it launched a fiery competition to challenge dominant American genres, taking over nightclubs, radio stations, and concert halls. It generated significant revenue for artists, producers, promoters, streaming sites, and tax authorities.

About a year ago, I watched a YouTube video where the host observed that Afrobeats was slowing down. At the time, I didn't share his perspective, but I now recognize his sagacity. A year later, his prediction has become a reality. To our disappointment, Afrobeats is sliding into obscurity.

Keen observers are asking what went wrong. There are two plausible explanations.

First, Afrobeats is a genre that evolved very rapidly. While evolution is necessary to keep fans engaged by moving away from boring old vibes toward fresh, exciting ones, the genre's last major evolutionary milestone was borrowing from South Africa’s Amapiano. This borrowed element—largely the log drum, with its pounding, infectious groove that drives nightclub crowds wild—has now outlived its novelty. As fans began to expect something new, the tide started to recede. This is one reason Afrobeats has moved from the center stage to the sidelines.

Several months ago, I saw a video interview with Timaya, one of Afrobeats' greats. He observed that it now costs somewhere in the neighborhood of $100,000 to promote a new song. My initial reaction was that this figure was preposterous. If true, however, it explains why new artists are struggling to break through, leading to a thunderous silence across the industry. The moment people saw how much money could be made, everyone raised their fees. This has instilled fear in the minds of record labels, who are now reluctant to gamble such a large sum on an unproven artist, since not every investment pays off. In this way, the industry has tightened the noose around its own neck. This theory is supported by the sudden inactivity of recording labels, which are no longer signing new artists at their previous rate. Of course, new talent will always emerge as long as mothers continue to conceive. The question is whether the industry will still be able to hear them.

 

This topic is explored further in my book, How to Become a Music Maestro, available on Amazon.

Troost-Ekong Remains a Great Player Despite Own Goal

William Troost Eking. Source: Ekong's Instagram Page

The recent World Cup qualifying match between Nigeria’s Super Eagles and South Africa’s Bafana Bafana ended in a 1–1 draw, with the Nigerian goal coming from an unfortunate own goal by team captain William Troost-Ekong. For some, the incident became a talking point, sparking debate over his legacy.

Yet to seasoned football observers, an own goal is a routine accident—part and parcel of the game. It does not diminish Ekong’s reputation or his contributions to Nigerian football. To suggest otherwise, as one social media commentator did, is to overlook the deeper issues confronting the Super Eagles.

Nigeria’s struggles in the qualifiers cannot be pinned on one player. From the onset of the campaign, the team has faltered against smaller African sides, finding itself near the bottom of the table. The draw in South Africa, if anything, was a positive result, given the circumstances. South Africa’s squad, drawn largely from its domestic league, benefits from greater cohesion and familiarity. This approach has proven successful across the continent. Egypt, for example, built its dominance on players from Al Ahly and Zamalek, a formula that has delivered seven Africa Cup of Nations titles. Nigeria, by contrast, has won the tournament only three times, the last under the late Stephen Keshi, who relied heavily on home-based talent.

Today’s Super Eagles, composed largely of diaspora players, reflect a different philosophy—one that has not yielded the same results. The issue is not Ekong’s isolated mistake, but a broader structural weakness in Nigerian football.

At the center of this problem lies the Nigerian Football Federation (NFF). The body has long faced criticism for administrative lapses, opaque hiring practices, and persistent financial irregularities. Stories of unpaid salaries, delayed bonuses, players reusing jerseys, and ex-players funding basic logistics have damaged the credibility of the federation.

Talent development has also suffered. In earlier decades, when Nigeria excelled at youth level, coaches scouted talent nationwide, uncovering players who rose to prominence on the international stage. Today, screenings are centralized in Abuja and compressed into a week, excluding many young players from disadvantaged backgrounds. This system inevitably narrows the pipeline of talent available to the national team.

If Nigerian football is to reclaim its former glory, reforms at the NFF are essential. Without transparency, accountability, and investment in grassroots development, the same challenges will persist regardless of who wears the captain’s armband.

William Troost-Ekong remains a distinguished professional who has represented his country with pride and consistency. His career should not be overshadowed by a single own goal. Instead, recognition must be given where it is due—both to his leadership on the field and to the urgent need for systemic reform off it.

 

Waiting for Duncan Mighty: A Reflection on Music, Memory, and Unread Messages

Duncan Mighty. Source: Duncan Mighty's Instagram Library

Duncan Mighty is a Nigerian artist whose name I first encountered through his single Port Harcourt First Son. In the song, he acknowledges prominent figures from Rivers State, his home region, thereby establishing both his identity and his connection to his roots.

I first saw him perform during former President Goodluck Jonathan’s campaign tour, shortly after the passing of President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua. The rally took place at the Rwang Pam Township Stadium. Before any political speeches were delivered, Duncan Mighty opened the event with a performance of Port Harcourt First Son. It was evident that the performance served a dual purpose: to entertain and to promote his music. There must certainly have been fees involved, as Jonathan was well known for supporting Nigerian artists. Timaya, another Port Harcourt musician, has often spoken in interviews about being a beneficiary of this generosity.

On that day, Duncan Mighty left a lasting impression. With his long dreadlocks, black leather jacket, and denim jeans, he commanded the stage. His performance was energetic and expressive—at one point he clenched his fists, thrusting them to the left while extending one leg outward, the other firmly grounded as if anchoring him to the stage. It was an arresting dance move that conveyed passion and intensity. That was the moment he etched himself indelibly in my memory.

Over time, I developed my own skills in music production, with a particular focus on reggae. While reading Duncan Mighty’s Wikipedia profile, I discovered that his music also bears reggae influences. Inspired by this, I experimented with his work, using a stem-splitter to isolate the vocals of Port Harcourt First Son and reworking it into a reggae version.

Because of my personal connection to Port Harcourt—I lived there for six years—the song holds special significance. Naturally, I wanted my reggae version to gain visibility. I initially shared it with friends in Port Harcourt via direct messages, but they were too preoccupied with their own concerns to respond. As a result, I decided to approach Duncan Mighty himself by sending him messages on Instagram. Unfortunately, as is often the case with such platforms, a recipient must first accept a message before it can be read. If only he would accept and listen, the remix might reach a wider audience and even go viral.

For now, however, I remain waiting.

Yiro Abari is the author of How to Become a Music Maestro:  a Handbook for Intending Music Artists. By it on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XQAQ

Between Shelter and Safety: Rethinking Tenancy and Family Protection

When we think of housing, most of us see it as shelter. But a home is more than four walls and a roof — it shapes how families live, how safe children feel, and even how they grow up. Download pdf here

Between Shelter and Safety: Rethinking Tenancy and Family Protection

When we think of housing, most of us see it as shelter. But a home is more than four walls and a roof — it shapes how families live, how safe children feel, and even how they grow up.

Why Family Safety Matters in Housing

Families don’t just rent any house. Parents worry: Will my children be safe here? Is there enough privacy? A father may think about his daughters being protected from predators, or his sons avoiding negative influences. Even the comfort and privacy of a wife matter.

Self-contained apartments can offer security and privacy, but when houses are squeezed too close together, problems arise. Sadly, in today’s market, many landlords try to use every inch of land to build something. The result is cramped apartments — sometimes so small that only a young bachelor just starting life would tolerate them.

But what happens when those same tiny flats sit next to family homes? It can create tension. Teenagers living side by side with restless young men — exactly the kind of situation parents dread. In the end, families avoid such homes, and landlords are left with empty buildings.

The Dilemma Parents Face

To shield their children, many parents go for detached, fenced houses. This way, kids are mostly at home, in school, or at church. It sounds safe, but it comes with its own problem. When children realize they are being heavily restricted, curiosity kicks in.

I once heard a story from a commercial driver. A teenage girl, on her way to sit for JAMB, told him that her parents never let her out. Boldly, she asked him to pick her up after her exams. He admitted he was tempted, but stopped himself — remembering his younger sister was about her age.

That story shows how restriction alone can backfire. Sometimes, the very rules meant to keep kids safe make them more eager to explore risky behavior.

When Risks Become Real

A single reckless encounter — a one-night stand with a stranger — can change a young girl’s life. If she becomes pregnant, the identity of the father might never be known. Beyond shame and confusion, such situations leave lasting scars on families.

Finding Balance

So, what’s the best way to protect children while renting in today’s housing market? Restriction has its place, but it can’t be the only tool. Families need homes designed with safety and privacy in mind. Landlords, too, must think beyond profit. A poorly designed house may never attract responsible tenants, no matter how cheap the rent.

Housing should not just be about making money. It is also about building an environment where families — and especially children — can feel safe, grow well, and thrive.

 

Multichoice and Warranty in Nigeria

I bought a GOTV decoder. Two days later, the power adapter stopped working. I wasn’t worried—after all, there’s always a warranty. I knew I only needed to take the faulty equipment back to the office where I purchased it.

At the office, I queued for almost an hour and a half to be attended to. There weren’t enough staff handling complaints and subscription payments. When it was finally my turn, the lady at the counter said, “The warranty doesn’t cover this. You will have to pay N500 to get another one.”

“Why doesn’t the warranty cover the power cable—for a big international company like Multichoice?” I protested. I wanted to continue arguing but realized it would be unwise to make so much noise over N500. So, I told her, “I’ll pay, but only because I don’t want to waste energy over N500.” I paid, and someone from the store handed the adapter—unwrapped—to the staff, who then gave it to me.

The whole process felt unprofessional and lacking the corporate ambience one would expect. First, the device wasn’t packaged; it was handed to me bare, as if I were buying crawfish from Kugiya Market. Second, since I had paid for it, there should have been a receipt. I wanted to uphold the Nigerian standard of a gentleman transaction. Third, the adapter wasn’t tested to confirm that it worked. This made me suspect that the warranty might actually cover such items, but the staff were exploiting the loophole to make some extra cash.

Multichoice has long been known for quality and high standards—whether in the clarity of their visuals or the reliability of their hardware. However, recent events suggest a decline. The company has faced challenges in Nigeria, from customers migrating to cheaper competitors to public protests over sudden subscription hikes of up to 20%. Each time, many thought the company would fold, yet it managed to survive.

Survival may have come at a cost. The company redesigned its decoders, opting for lighter, smaller versions made of cheap plastics with less appeal. Worse still, manufacturing was outsourced to a Chinese company. While Chinese firms are bold in mass production, they often compromise on quality.

In Multichoice’s earlier days of prestige, their hardware rarely failed within the warranty period. Companies usually issue warranties confidently because they trust the durability of their products. So when a company excludes items like power adapters from warranty, it signals they are aware of potential quality issues and want to avoid constant replacements, repairs, or refunds.

This raises a key question: should giant international companies be allowed to sell products without warranty coverage? Governments are expected to protect their citizens from exploitation by enforcing strict warranty requirements.

Warranties benefit both companies and customers. They reassure customers about product durability, motivate manufacturers to improve quality, and build trust between brands and consumers. Without them, customers are left vulnerable, and companies risk eroding their reputation.

The Futility of Violence: Resolving Nigeria's Herder-Farmer Conflict

Video Showing a farmland in Plateau State

It has gone more than a decade and half since the deadly herders’ quest for grazing lands started in Nigeria. Thousands have died and many more are still dying on a daily basis, yet the government seems to have given up on the issue.

Herders have lived in Nigeria for as long as the Nigerian nation existed. They have lived mostly in the far north to the middle belt area of the country. Desert advancement, triggered by climate change, forced them to start seeking pasture in other parts of the country.

Nigeria has been run without a drive. There was always the absence of strategy and little or no concern to the repercussion of doing so. It is expected that the government should have predicted the eventual competition for land between herders and farmers, taking a decision to deal with it from the onset –population will always grow and force increase demand for agricultural land.  

The administration of late President Mohammadu Buhari, in its bid to create jobs in the agro sector, banned the imports of certain agricultural produce. Food prices soared as a result. This triggered a rush to subsistent and commercial agriculture, increasing the demand for arable land, thereby eating up huge expanses of land that would have been used for grazing. It is easy to see this in herders’ habit of moving cattle to settlement areas to graze. I have had the chance of asking a herder the question of why they still move cattle to settlement areas, despite the abundance of grass in the vast bushes. His answer was that there is hardly a place left uncultivated.   

This year, I decided to check things for myself. By mid-May, when farmers where fully convinced that the rains have finally come, they moved their ploughs across the fields. I realized that, every day, the herders come with their cattle and stand in the perimeter of the farms, not knowing where to take the cattle to. If there are patches of land in the centre that have not been cultivated, the farmers go to the extent of inviting other farmers to cultivate them. According to them, if any patch of land is left uncultivated, it lures cattle, culminating in sabotage of surrounding farms. But after crops have been planted, weeded and nourished, however, farmers leave the farms, allowing the crops to mature. At that time, herders move their cattle into the gutters separating the farms to find the badly needed pasture. In doing this, crop damages are expected.

Population will continue to grow and more land will be needed to grow enough food to feed the growing population. This will intensify competition for land between cattle herders and farmers. Thus, as far as the conflict is concerned, there is no end in sight. This leaves us with just one option: going back to the issue of RUGA, which ensures cattle stay in restricted areas, feeding on specially grown pasture with high nutritional content. This was what President Buhari’s administration tried to introduce but was met with stiff resistance by certain stakeholders.

Why did the modern ranching idea of President Buhari fail to gain acceptance? Buhari’s government intended creating herders’ settlements called RUGA. According to Scan News, RUGA would have contained “ranches, grass or feed farms, abattoirs, dairy, meat and skin/leather processing plants, housing, religious houses, schools, roads, power and water supplies and the complete range of infrastructure required to support and sustain an ultra-modern local government area.” The sheer size of the land would have been equivalent to 216 local government areas. Nigeria has a total of 774 local government areas. In Plateau State with 17 local government areas, for instance, it would have meant conceding about 35% of the land to Fulani herders. Plateau has a tribal population of about 40.

The late President and former Governor of Kaduna State, Ahmed El-Rufai, had said in the past that the Fulani people killing Nigerian farmers were foreigners from Mali, Chad and the Central African Republic. So, why give this kind of land to foreigners? This weird design is the reason why the intellectual demography kicked against the project. The uneducated hated RUGA because it was trying to give their land to murders. 

As said in the preceding parts of this article, Nigeria’s has been run with disregard to the principles of nation-building. Why should we allow illegal immigrants to come to our country, cause widespread killings and end up enjoying the resources of the country in a way their nations couldn’t provide them? This points to a possibility of fraud in the design of RUGA, demonstrating that the project was ill-motivated. There are schools of thought that believe that the actual reason why land is in desperate need by herders is due to an unexplained increase in the population of herders across the country. Perhaps, there wouldn’t have been any competition for land in the first place.  

The deadly conflict has pointed a fing
er on the dangerous repercussion of leaving borders free to everyone. Solving the herder issue requires, first and foremost, taking the profile of all herders across the country to ascertain their actual nationalities, with deportation following where it becomes necessary. 

Causes of Fatal Mining Accidents on the Plateau

Illustration of mine collapse

Plateau State, Nigeria, is endowed with a variety of mineral resources, notably tin and columbite. Historically, the exploitation of these minerals attracted both local and international interests, shaping the cosmopolitan character of Jos, the state capital.

However, from the late 1970s, mining activities declined significantly due to a collapse in the global prices of tin and columbite, which were then the principal commercial minerals of value. In recent years, global advancements in science and technology have renewed demand for these minerals, alongside others that were previously discarded due to limited industrial application. This resurgence has reactivated artisanal and small-scale mining across Plateau State, providing a critical source of livelihood for large numbers of unemployed youths.

In much of the state, particularly in the northern zones, mineral deposits remain widely dispersed. Women, who often lack the capacity to sink shafts, typically engage in surface-level mining along water channels, where mineral concentrates settle after rainfall. Artisanal miners, in contrast, commonly dig shafts that extend between 50 and 70 feet in depth to access richer deposits, relying on rudimentary tools such as shovels, diggers, and improvised pulley systems.

Despite the economic opportunities mining presents, it is accompanied by severe occupational hazards. Fatal accidents are recurrent, often involving individuals motivated by poverty to supplement their income. For instance, reports indicate that even professionals, such as a primary school head teacher in December 2024, have lost their lives in mining pits while attempting to earn additional income for their families. Similarly, women and children have also been victims, highlighting the vulnerability of economically disadvantaged groups.

Several factors contribute to mining-related fatalities on the Plateau:

1. Mine collapses. After reaching the mineral “floor,” miners typically dig horizontal tunnels that may extend up to one hundred feet. The intervening walls are expected to serve as pillars to prevent collapse. However, when these pillars are weakened by excessive excavation—whether by miners seeking additional ore or children scavenging nearby—the structural integrity of the mine is compromised, leading to collapses that often trap or kill those underground.
2. Water inundation. Abandoned mines frequently accumulate water under high pressure. When active tunnels breach these water-filled shafts, sudden flooding occurs, overwhelming miners with little or no chance of escape due to the depth of the shafts and the ensuing confusion. Survival in such cases is minimal, as visibility and mobility underground are severely restricted.
3. Mechanical failures. Accidents also result from equipment malfunctions, particularly the snapping of steel cables used to lower or raise buckets of ore. Buckets carrying heavy loads may fall back into the pit, crushing miners, while cable failures during descent frequently cause severe injuries or fatalities.

The recovery of victims varies depending on the cause of the accident. Where flooding is involved, bodies can often be retrieved after pumping out water. In contrast, collapses that bury victims make recovery exceedingly difficult without the use of excavators, which require significant financial resources. In such circumstances, families often resort to conducting funeral rites at the site without retrieving the body.

Despite the high incidence of accidents, artisanal mining persists as an economic necessity. Temporary halts in mining following fatalities are typically symbolic gestures of respect rather than reconsiderations of the risks involved. Mining, in many cases, has served as a pathway out of poverty. For instance, women have been reported to earn as much as ₦130,000 within two days, while daring young men occasionally secure windfalls amounting to millions of naira. Consequently, a common refrain among Plateau residents underscores the indispensability of mining: “What would have become of us if there were no minerals in Plateau State

Do Africans Know the Worth of their Minerals?

Precious Minerals. Image generated by a.i

The conversation often surfaces on how foreign powers are exploiting Africa's most valuable natural resources at little or next to nothing. The question thus arises as to whether African nations truly understand the worth of their earth resources. There are complex reasons why Africa's minerals are often under-priced. One fundamental reason is the lack of technology. When foreign companies come to Africa with technologies that Africans do not possess, the bargaining power tips in favour of the companies. An African leader desperate for funds to run his country may succumb to unfavourable deals despite knowing they unfairly favour the foreign company. Sometimes, proceeds are shared in a ratio of 6:3 in favour of the foreign company. Take the case of Orano SA, a French company that mines uranium in the Arlit region of northern Niger. Orano holds a 63.4% stake, while Sopamin, the Nigerien state-owned company, holds a mere 36.6% of Somair Mines. What's even more striking is that the lion's share is held by a company owned by a few individuals.

In some cases, a country's colonial history gives undue advantage to certain companies. France is a typical example of a colonial power that maintains a predatory relationship with its former colonies. Currently, Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger, all former French colonies, are fighting to correct unfair economic alliances with the European nation. The case of Nigeria is a nation blinded by oil revenues. Before the discovery of oil, Nigeria's economy was largely agro-based, relying on cash crops for revenue. The nation also depended on solid minerals for extra income. Following the discovery of oil, the Nigerian authorities failed to recognize that significant revenue can come from a combination of numerous smaller sources rather than a single giant source. The metallic mineral industry highlights the Nigerian government's contempt for non-oil industries. The authorities have failed to demonstrate a sincere willingness to reform the solid minerals industry for maximum benefit. One of the negative outcomes is the invasion of the industry by illegal miners, many of whom are foreigners who make large haulages daily.

The issue is complicated by the Exclusive Legislative List, under which earth resources fall in Nigerian law. This ensures that the prerogative to regulate activities in the industry remains in the hands of the Federal Government in Abuja. However, since the federal authorities are more concerned about oil revenues, the sector suffers. Despite the creation of an agency like NEITI (Nigerian Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative), solid minerals-producing states still suffer from a lack of funds that would be expected given the scale of mining activities in the states.

In December 2022, the Federal Government announced it had given N625 billion as derivation funds to the nine oil-producing states in Nigeria. This amounts to an average of approximately N70 billion per state per year. On the other hand, only Nasarawa State is fortunate enough to receive around N1 billion per month. In September 2024, Governor Caleb Mutfwang of Plateau State complained that the state only receives about N500 million as annual derivation revenue despite the billions generated from mining activities in the state.

Solid minerals-producing states are embittered by the unfair circumstances in which they find themselves. Some have developed mining policies that take advantage of loopholes in the Nigerian Mining Laws. The aim is to ensure they don't lose everything. These policies allow them to charge companies certain fees for registration, inspection, haulages, etc. When setting the charges, however, they are cautious to ensure that local companies are not discouraged. Total charges per annum in most states may not exceed N700,000 per annum, which is the same amount foreign companies pay. Upon hearing this, an alarmed foreign investor exclaimed, "That's just about three hundred pounds! Don't you value your minerals?" Thus, about £300 is what a Chinese company pays to a solid mineral-producing state to operate for one year, while earning hundreds of millions of pounds.

The Legacies of Late President Buhari

Late Former President of Nigeria, Muhammadu Buhari

It’s illogical when people say we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. This notion doesn’t hold, because it’s not we who are speaking—rather, it’s the way the deceased lived their lives that speaks. We are merely the loudspeakers.

Some may view it from a religious perspective. Even so, the argument remains illogical since religion is founded on truth. If someone lived in defiance of God's teachings, they would still face judgment, regardless of public sentiment. So, what we say can stand even before God —as long as what we say is true.

The late President Muhammadu Buhari’s tenure as a military Head of State was short-lived, ending in a coup barely a year after he came into power. Yet, in that brief time, he managed to convince many Nigerians that he was the one who could truly confront Nigeria’s most feared enemy: corruption.

Before returning to power as a civilian president, Buhari consistently spoke of funds looted and stashed abroad by corrupt Nigerians—money he claimed could solve Nigeria’s infrastructural problems. He expressed a desire to recover these funds and use them for the common good. Nigerians began to see him as a messiah. When critics accused him of being a tribalist and religious chauvinist, many dismissed those warnings as baseless opposition from individuals benefiting from the country’s disarray.

Buhari contested the presidency three times without success. After his third failed attempt in 2011, his supporters unleashed violence in the northern part of the country, killing hundreds—mostly Christians—who were seen as obstacles to his ambition. This showed the level of devotion he commanded, almost elevating him to the status of a prophet. Earlier, he had ominously warned that if he lost, there would be “bloody dogs and bloody monkeys.” As the 2015 election approached, he repeated that threat. In contrast, then-incumbent President Goodluck Jonathan declared, “No ambition is worth the blood of any Nigerian.”

When the 2015 election results were announced, Buhari was declared the winner. President Jonathan conceded defeat—a rare and commendable act in Nigerian, and indeed African, politics, where incumbents rarely lose elections. Jonathan acted as a statesman to prevent a repeat of the 2011 violence.

Buhari’s early days in office seemed to fulfilled public expectations. But within two years, the trajectory began to change. His anti-corruption drive became confusing—a case of “the more you see, the less you understand.” His spokesperson often said the damage done to Nigeria was deep-rooted and would take time to fix. Eventually, however, Buhari’s government itself became brazenly corrupt.

A glaring example was during the COVID-19 lockdown, when the government claimed to have spent billions of naira on school feeding programs  —despite schools being closed. Nigerians asked, “Who were you feeding? Ghosts?” Not a single major conviction for corruption occurred. Instead, Buhari’s government released people previously jailed for corruption.

Under his leadership, inflation rose by 175%. By the end of his second term in 2023 Nigeria, once Africa’s largest economy, slipped to fourth place—behind South Africa, Egypt, and Algeria.

Security deteriorated further. What was termed the “farmer-herder conflict” masked widespread violence, where armed groups invaded villages, killing hundreds and seizing ancestral lands. There were no convictions. Banditry in the northwest worsened. Armed gangs on motorbikes would attack towns, kill residents, steal livestock and grains, or abduct people for ransom.

As the country's woes multiplied, Buhari lost the support of the very people who had once gone to great lengths to defend and idolize him.

On May 29, President Buhari handed over power to Bola Ahmed Tinubu, Nigeria’s newly elected president.

On Sunday, July 13th, 2025, former President Buhari died in a London hospital. Critics were baffled: How could he fail to build a decent hospital in Nigeria, only to die in a foreign one that still couldn’t save him? To many, this was final proof that Buhari had never truly meant well for Nigeria. Most shocking of all were the crowds in northern Nigeria that flooded the streets —not to mourn, but to thank God for his death

 

Beyond the Plateau Climate Assembly

Picture source: seaart.ai

The Plateau State Ministry of Environment, Climate Change and Mineral Development hosted the Plateau Climate Assembly. It was a gathering of Plateau people from across the country to study the Plateau State policy on the climate agenda, a policy document that is praised for being the only one of its kind across Africa. There was the need to study the document to identify possible loopholes that would need to be sealed before it is passed into law.  That was the aim of the assembly.

 

For many, it is something that aims to re-energize the pride they have always had for Plateau State. Plateau State built for itself the reputation of being a forerunner throughout the forty-nine years of its history. We see this in its iconic schools, its role in the development of the media in northern Nigeria, its role in its contribution to sports development in Nigeria, not forgetting its vibrant urban culture that others wished they had.  

 

So, how did Plateau end up with a document that is the onliest across Africa? It surely comes from the calibre of the Commissioner of the Ministry of Environment, Climate Change and Mineral Development, Peter Kanang Gwom. He is a man who understands that politics is a power struggle, but that power is a means to an end, rather than the end itself. He is known to be restless when there is inactivity in the ministry, contrary to what is obtainable in other places, where people are paid and expected to be thankful for not doing anything, while they get paid.  

 

The desire to get things done saw Honourable Gwom travelling around the world, attending meetings with hues of environmental discussion. These global interactions and connections surely paved the way for the idea of the Plateau Policy on Climate Change, something that is sure to radiate across the country and Africa at large.

 

When the Plateau Policy on Climate Change is eventually passed into law, the action of plugging into the fight against climate change and mitigating its impact is expected to begin.

 

Across Nigeria, the World Bank is currently training people on social and environmental standards. This is a training that had been conducted in the past, but the World Bank is repeating it because it observes that Nigerians are not ploughing into the global climate efforts. Thus, passing the Plateau policy document into law is only the first hurdle.

 

What has been responsible for the inability of Nigerians to join the war against climate change, despite the agonizing experience of the impact of climate change? We have seen it in the desperation of herders trying to find fresh grazing lands, having been driven by desertification in the north of the country. We have seen it in alien crop diseases and irregular rainfall patterns that are frustrating agricultural yields. We have seen it in the floods that buried our towns and cities in the past couple of years. Thus, it is shocking why Nigerians continue to dawdle over the climate issue.

 

Educated people blame the uneducated for not believing the reality of climate change. It is a case of the kettle describing the pot as grimy. It is the duty of the educated to enlighten the uneducated to believe the reality of climate change, even if it means doing so in their native languages –not having formal education is not an implication of dysfunctional mental faculties.

 

The onus rests solely on us, the educated. The educated demography in the private domain must support the government to shape policies that accelerate our efforts towards mitigating the impact of climate change. The educated private sector must support government efforts to end cutting down trees for firewood and charcoal, activities that exacerbate the damage to our environment. The private sector must support governments in the area of setting up environmetal grant makers in the country to encourage innovators working to bring green alternatives that replace technologies that impair our environment.

 

While nations are setting dates for bidding farewell to the use of fossil fuels, governments across the country request support to not just key in but also find alternative sources of income when the transition is finally actualized. Geological explorations must aim to find safer mineral alternatives, which will be exploited and used responsibly.

 

We are already late on the climate issue.

We Are Often Cut Out of the Ahmed Musa Story

Ahmed Musa. Source: Inside J-Town Magazine

No one falls from the sky. There is no heaven without the earth. Every individual has a beginning. It may be a humble beginning, but it is always there. It shocks me that our town of Bukuru and Aminci Football Club are often missing in the Musa story.

Ahmed Musa was born and raised in Bukuru, Jos South of Plateau State. He played for Aminci Football Club, a club that metamorphosed into a football academy. In addition to developing young players, the club also serves Europe-based players wishing to stay fit during the off-season. It also serves players who couldn't secure new contracts with their teams but want to remain fit while struggling to find new clubs.  

Aminci practised at the St Peter Primary School’s pitch in Bukuru, nestled by the police ‘B’ Division and the railway station. He sometimes played at the Bukuru Mini Stadium (nearly every star from Jos played at the Bukuru mini stadium at one point or the other).

In 2007, I started the magazine, Inside J-Town (which evolved to this very publication). In the magazine’s design, I created a column to feature young footballers who are good enough to play at the professional level but who haven’t found a club yet. That was how coach Akwash introduced me to Ahmed Musa. He told me that Musa’s strengths were in speed and good ball control. It was how I met with the young player who told me that his ultimate ambition was to play for Arsenal of England, as it was his favourite club, but that he was ready to play for any club that came his way at the time. 

I moved on with my affair but later learned, in 2010, of a player from Bukuru, specifically, who played for Kano Pillars at the time and had broken a record for the highest goals ever scored in the Nigerian Professional League, since Ishaya Jatau 1990’s record. I never knew it was the boy from my town because, at the time he granted me an interview, he referred to himself as Ahmadu Musa. But I longed to see if the guy was a familiar face since he came from my town. I waited until the friendly match between Nigeria and Argentina when he was to be introduced as a substitute. Lo and behold, it was the boy I interviewed while he was still in the amateur category. It made me realize that what I was doing was more important than I thought.

So, it pains us when his story is told and the humble beginning is brushed aside. The problem is complicated by coach Bros who runs the Golden Boot Soccer Academy. He is not educated and, hence, refuses to trust educated people around him. These are the people who will ensure whatever he does is properly documented

Nigeria, Ghana and the Music Conflict

Recently, Davido, the Nigerian Afrobeats superstar, rewarded a Ghanaian fan, Ananzo, who was seen miming a song from Davido’s latest album 5ive, with $5000. The incident brought to mind the acumen of music superstars, whether from Nigeria or Ghana.

The gift is a show of intelligence because it plays down the feud between ordinary Ghanaians and Nigerians regarding which of the West African nations is musically superior. While this feud lasts, I have watched closely the opinions of the artists regarding the matter. Despite the fussing and fighting at the bottom, you never hear an artist, be they Burner Boy, Davido or Stoneboy, joining the argument –they stay mature. Instead, one hears them talking good of the nations. Burner Boy once said, “When I want quiet time, I prefer to go to Ghana because they have many such places.” But even Davido's gift of $5000 to Ananzo is just another demonstration of wisdom that should be seen from celebrities.  

At the peak of the international feud, some Ghanaian “influencers” did just the contrary, telling Ghanaian music fans that it amounts to stupidity for any Ghanaian fan to support Nigerian music when Nigerians aren’t supporting their own music. Their counterparts on the Nigerian side responded with a barrage of insults.

While the Nigerian response is condemnable, there is also the need to inform their Ghanaian counterparts on how music success works. At the level of nations, music success works like a relay race. Every country has its turn. At some point, it was the South Africans. At another, it was the Congolese. Now, it is the turn of the Nigerians. A Ghanaian turn will surely come.

I always ask Ghanaians whether their music receives rave reviews in every nation except Nigeria. If Ghanaian music is currently making waves around the world, except in Nigeria, then the Nigerians are truly acting in a way that can be considered malicious. If that is not the case, then those Ghanaians need to have a rethink.

The current Ghanaian President, John Mahama, once talked of how he stayed with his step-mum in Ofa, Nigeria, for a few years while fleeing political persecution from his country and how he has come to consider Nigeria his second home. Just imagine what goes through the mind of the President when he hears common people going for each other’s jugular over issues of superiority.  

While receiving former British Prime Minister Tony Blair at the White House, the American President, George Bush, referred to Britain as the only country that is truly America’s friend. After hearing this, I started searching to see which country is truly Nigeria’s friend. There is none other than Ghana.

Biodiversity Conservation Initiatives in Nigeria: National, Indigenous, and Private Efforts

 Group Discussion

Led and Presented by Dalong Hassan Ishaku

Nigeria is rich in biodiversity, hosting diverse ecosystems such as rainforests, mangroves, savannahs, and wetlands. Conservation efforts occur at national, state, local government (e.g., Qua’an Pan LGA), and community levels, with protected areas like Pandam Game Reserve playing a key role. Below is a structured outline with examples.

1. National (Federal Government) Initiatives

The Nigerian government implements policies, laws, and protected area management for biodiversity conservation.

Examples:

National Biodiversity Strategy and Action Plan (NBSAP)

Aligns with the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) to protect endangered species (e.g., Cross River gorilla, African elephant) and restore degraded lands.Wildlife Protection Laws

 

Endangered Species (Control of International Trade & Traffic) Act (2016) – Bans illegal wildlife trade

 

National Park Service Act – Manages Nigeria’s 8 national parks, including Gashaka Gumti and Old Oyo National Park

 

Afforestation & Climate Initiatives

Great Green Wall Programme – Combats desertification in Northern Nigeria (e.g., Kano, Bauchi, and Plateau States).

National Forest Policy – Promotes sustainable forest management.

2. State-Level Conservation Efforts

Different Nigerian states have unique biodiversity hotspots and conservation programs.

Examples:

a. Plateau State (Including Qua’an Pan LGA & Pandam Game Reserve)

Pandam Game Reserve

A state-protected area covering 224 km² in Qua’an Pan LGA, home to hippos, crocodiles, antelopes, and migratory birds.

Threats: Encroachment, illegal fishing, and weak enforcement.

Conservation Efforts:

Plateau State Government occasionally deploys rangers for patrols.

NGO partnerships (e.g., Wildlife Conservation Society, WCS) for species monitoring

b. Cross River State

Cross River National Park – Protects rainforest biodiversity (e.g., Nigeria-Cameroon chimpanzee).

Community Forest Management (e.g., Ekuri Initiative)

c. Lagos State

Lekki Conservation Centre (Managed by Nigerian Conservation Foundation, NCF) – Protects wetlands and wildlife

3. Indigenous & Community-Led Conservation

Local communities, especially in rural areas, use traditional knowledge for conservation.

Examples in Qua’an Pan & Pandam:

Traditional Hunting Bans – Some communities impose seasonal bans to protect wildlife.

Sacred Sites – Certain forests or water bodies are preserved for cultural reasons.

Community Patrols – Local volunteers sometimes monitor Pandam Lake against illegal fishing.

Other Indigenous Examples:

Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove (Osun State) – A UNESCO site preserved by the Yoruba people.

Afi Mountain (Cross River) – Local communities protect drill monkeys.

4. Private Sector & NGO-Led Initiatives

Private organizations and NGOs support conservation through funding, research, and advocacy.

Examples in Plateau State & Pandam:

Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS) – Conducts biodiversity surveys in Pandam.

Nigerian Conservation Foundation (NCF) – Advocates for better protection of Pandam.

Ecotourism Ventures – Some private lodges near Pandam promote wildlife tourism.

Other Private Efforts in Nigeria:

Shell’s Niger Delta Mangrove Restoration – Replants degraded mangroves.

Dangote Afforestation Projects – Tree planting in Northern Nigeria.

Conclusion & Challenges in Pandam Game Reserve

Strengths: Rich biodiversity, community involvement, NGO interest.

Weaknesses: Poor funding, weak enforcement, encroachment.

Recommendations:

Increased government funding for rangers and equipment

Eco-tourism development to generate conservation revenue

Stronger community partnerships for sustainable hunting/fishing rules