Human Eyes, Divine Motive

Hon. Peter Kanang Gwom. Source: Gwom's Facebook Picture Library

On Friday, 28 August, an event was held at the conference hall of the Plateau State Head of Service's office. It was in honour of the then Commissioner of Environment, Climate Change and Mineral Development, Honourable Peter Kanang Gwom, who was leaving his portfolio to assume office as the new Commissioner of Lands, Survey and Town Planning.

A month earlier, a stray thought had crossed my mind: What happens if the Commissioner is taken away? It was not based on any rumour I had heard—just a quiet premonition that wandered in uninvited. Then, it came to pass. In a major cabinet reshuffle by Governor Caleb Mutfwang's administration, Honourable Gwom was moved to the Ministry of Lands, Survey and Town Planning.

Why was I fearful? Over the years, we have had a series of commissioners, each with their own idiosyncrasies. Some were difficult to work with; we often prayed for their departure—whether through reshuffle or resignation. We rarely cared when a bad commissioner left. But this time, the fear was different.

My second concern stemmed from the wealth of experience Honourable Gwom had accumulated during his three years at the Ministry of Environment. In that time, he attended conferences from Cape to Cairo, Somalia to Gambia, and everywhere in between. He also initiated and completed beautiful projects. This built for him a towering expertise in environmental matters. His transfer meant he was taking that expertise away from a ministry that needed it one hundred percent, to one that required very little of it. To my human eyes, this looked like a loss.

In his farewell speech, the Commissioner cited moments when he had wanted one thing, but something else came his way. Eventually, he said, he came to understand that what came was actually in his best interest. He remarked that humans often look at events "with human eyes," missing the divine motive behind them. That phrase stayed with me.

Reflecting on this, I recalled that a former long-serving Permanent Secretary of the Ministry of Environment—who had also been moved to Commerce—was now heading to the same Ministry of Lands, Survey and Town Planning. This coincidence suggests that perhaps the Ministry of Lands has pressing issues that require people with environmental insight. What seemed like a subtraction may, in fact, be a strategic redeployment. But we could not see it—not with human eyes.

Still, no experience gained is ever wasted while you are alive. The greatest challenge our planet faces today is the threat of environmental doom, unless we act to reverse or build resilience to climate change. That is why we must build strong momentum in this fight—and it is a fight for everyone, whether in government or outside it. Governments design policies; the private sector cooperates to achieve goals. Early in his tenure at the Ministry of Environment, Honourable Gwom was quoted as saying there was too much redundancy and that he wanted to see things happen. That passion defines his approach to any role. His drive suggests that even outside government, his experience could still be put to meaningful use.

Perhaps the real weakness is not in what we see, but in our assumption that what we see is all there is. You never know when the tide of life is leading you to a destination that will benefit you and humanity. Often, you gain experience without immediately seeing the full picture—but eventually, the pieces fall into place. The divine motive, hidden from human eyes, slowly reveals itself.

And when it does, you realise: you were never really losing. You were being repositioned

 

Living with Fulani Folks

AI-generated Image

I was born in Jos South, but I am native to Irigwe land in Bassa Local Government Area of Plateau State. I attended primary school and the first three years of secondary school in Jos South. I spent the last two years of secondary school in Irigwe land.

During my time in Irigwe land, I met a classmate with whom I became close. He was Fulani by tribe and spoke Irigwe fluently—Fulani people have a talent for understanding languages with ease. Of course, he also spoke Fulani, Hausa, and English, which he learned in school; this is common among children born in that part of Nigeria.

My friend felt that our school lacked the resources to help him achieve his dream of becoming a medical doctor. It was ironic: I had left my previous school because I felt it lacked the resources to help me fulfil my ambition in the sciences. I tried all I could to persuade him to stay, especially since we had become inseparable. We were so close that he often took me to his ruga home, where we would spend weekends. Eventually, he left for Science School, Toro, in Bauchi State. I remained in Irigwe land in Plateau State, pursuing my dream of building a solid science foundation. I had no intention of becoming a medical doctor, preferring instead to acquire a solid science foundation before making a decision. I knew, however, that I would not study Medicine or Pharmacy—careers that teenagers were crazy about.

I achieved my dream of a solid foundation, just as he did. That was why we met again at the University of Jos. I was studying geology, while he was not in medicine. Instead, he had enrolled in one of the biological sciences, a field he disliked. He later moved to the University of Maiduguri to study Veterinary Medicine.

It was at the University of Jos that the bond of brotherhood became unmistakable between us. Each time we wanted to communicate in secret, we spoke in Irigwe. That was when I learned that if you grow up in the same locality, you become brothers in a foreign land. I felt this too when I was in Port Harcourt. Whenever I became homesick, I would go to the Presidential Hotel in Port Harcourt, meet the Hausa people selling their wares there, and spend some time talking about Jos. Though he was not Irigwe by blood, he felt that Irigwe land was home to him. And indeed, we never felt that Fulani people were strangers until the devil paid a visit and poisoned our minds.

After graduating from our respective universities, we met a few times and then lost contact. That was in the mid-nineties. When the security situation deteriorated on the Plateau and elsewhere across the country, I started thinking about him. He seemed to have vanished so completely that none of our schoolmates could say where he had last been seen or heard of. Thanks to social media, someone posted his phone number on a Whatsapp group for our former secondary school classmates. Posting his number on that group meant that his whereabouts were unknown not only to me but to many others. That was my interpretation of seeing his number alone on Whatsapp.

I quickly copied and saved the number. When I called for the first time, he did not answer. I tried again a couple of days later. This time, he answered. He told me he had been living in Kaduna and practicing his profession. I asked why he never visited. His answer was, in his own words, “the thing is that your land has become what it has become.” Then he asked which part of Jos I lived in. I told him. He then promised that whenever he was passing through, he would give me a call.

Since then, he has not called—probably because he has not visited, or because he has visited but his schedule made it impossible.

This is how things have become messy between native Plateau communities and settlers—so messy that the feeling of brotherhood has eroded. In its place, there is now only hatred and enmity

 

Fulanis Risking It All

              Jeopardizing the Influence They Already Hold

Nuhu Ribadu and Nasir El Rufai Source: AI

During the administration of Olusegun Obasanjo (1999–2007), there were three cabinet members I greatly admired. They were Dorothy Akunyili, who headed NAFDAC; Nuhu Ribadu, who headed the EFCC; and Nasir El-Rufai, who served as Minister of the Federal Capital Territory. I admired them for their wisdom, courage, and strong sense of patriotism, qualities that helped them perform effectively in their roles.

I hoped they would continue to serve in government in various capacities. I particularly wished to see them become governors of their respective states. For El-Rufai, I believed he had the potential for even higher responsibilities. My wish for him was fulfilled when he became governor of Kaduna State. Ribadu made several attempts to become governor of Adamawa State but was unsuccessful. Akunyili later served as Minister of Information under President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua before her untimely death, which I deeply mourned.

Over time, however, some of El-Rufai’s actions as governor raised questions in my mind. The persistent security challenges in southern Kaduna, combined with his administration’s approach to appointments — which many viewed as exclusionary — led me to question how inclusive and equitable his leadership was. He maintained that appointments were based purely on merit. This claim was difficult to reconcile with the educational achievements and available talent in Southern Kaduna, which has historically performed well in education compared to the northern part of the state.

The escalation of violence in the southern part of the state further deepened my concerns. At the peak of the banditry problem, El-Rufai stated that the government had paid some bandits to leave Nigeria’s borders. Later, his comments about the Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN) remaining silent due to the exclusion of Christians from his government, and his suggestion that this approach could be applied more broadly, added to the perception of religious and ethnic bias.

Ribadu, after facing political challenges, was eventually appointed National Security Adviser. In this role, he described the Fulanis involved in security issues as “brothers” who could not simply be cut off, comparing them to a part of the body. He also mentioned that some had been released from detention. These statements raised questions about consistency in how security-related cases are handled across different ethnic groups.

Both El-Rufai and Ribadu are Fulanis who have built distinguished careers and are often seen as refined and cosmopolitan. Their respective positions on issues involving Fulani individuals involved in crime have led some observers, including myself, to perceive a pattern of ethnic sympathy. Given the serious nature of the offences — murder, kidnapping, arson, rape, and others — such perceptions contribute to growing concerns about ethnic favouritism in addressing national security challenges.

Historically, Fulani communities were generally well-regarded across Nigeria. However, the recent wave of violence linked to some Fulani groups has strained relationships. While Fulanis already occupy significant positions of influence in the country, the on-going conflicts risk undermining the acceptance and respect they previously enjoyed. In today’s world, maintaining absolute control over diverse groups is extremely difficult. If current tensions continue, Fulanis may ultimately lose more influence and social goodwill than they stand to gain.

 

Good roads. Terrible journey

 From Jos to Port Aba, what once took 12 hours now takes up to 24 — not because of bad roads, but because of too many checkpoints and endless 'tips'. A painful reality we can no longer ignore.

Between 1997 and 2003, it used to take about twelve hours to travel from Jos to Port Harcourt. Now, it takes about nineteen hours—almost twenty-four hours—due to changing dynamics. What makes it even more disheartening is the fact that the roads have improved. The roads, especially from Akwanga in Nasarawa State down to the Southeast, have been rehabilitated: they are wide, dual carriageways, and smooth, with the exception of a few uncompleted sections that shouldn’t significantly affect the journey.

So, what has changed? It is the security issue, especially within Benue State. This has necessitated the erection of numerous roadblocks, where drivers must stop and be inspected. As a result, the journey is no longer steady.

Checkpoints should be spaced reasonably—intervals of two kilometers would be ideal. Along this road, however, this is not the case. As a matter of fact, the checkpoint density is so high that one can say they are clustered. At almost every point, drivers have to stop, be inspected, and answer questions. If a driver carries only passengers, he usually answers questions and moves on, except in a few cases where money is demanded. If the driver carries goods, however, money is expected at every checkpoint. At customs checkpoints, the driver may pay as much as 2,000 naira, sometimes more. At checkpoints manned by soldiers or police, the amount is far less, usually falling between 200 and 400 naira.

We have a culture of abusing every situation that is meant to bring some form of relief. The habit of abusing every good intention only works to complicate matters. In this case, the abuse is the insistence that money must be paid to security officials at the checkpoints. This is the very reason why the number of checkpoints has grown astronomically, leading to the added hours it now takes to complete the journey. One often observes a situation where a soldier sits by the roadside while a hoodlum mans the checkpoint, collecting “royalties.” The use of hoodlums is one way to understand that the checkpoint is personal, belonging to the soldier sitting by the roadside. Another indication that the checkpoint is illegal is the exorbitant fees such hoodlums sometimes demand. Some insist that the driver pay 1,000 naira instead of the usual 200 naira. The hoodlum usually concedes only after his boss has mediated; he doesn’t want the issue to escalate, knowing the inspection point is illegal.

If the checkpoints are meant to improve the security situation, the inability of authorities to supervise them often creates new problems. The biggest problem is the long hours it takes to travel. Imagine someone traveling to Maiduguri along these roads. On my last journey to Jos, while returning from the National Mining and Geoscience Society conference in Uyo in the last week of March 2026, I ended up with swollen legs—a health challenge that took me two days to recover from. I never counted the number of checkpoints, but between Enugu and Benue States, one can confidently say there were as many as two checkpoints per kilometer, sometimes more. The driver kept giving “tips” to the point where I felt pity for him—our bus carried bales of garments and jerry cans of red oil. Even if there were a modest eighty checkpoints at an average of 300 naira each, the driver would have paid ₦24,000. He also had to grapple with fuel costs, which varied between ₦1,280 and ₦1,350 per litre at the time of my journey. All these factors translate into higher costs of living for ordinary people.

There is always a need for authorities to monitor the enforcement of policies to ensure they remain effective and continue to serve the purpose for which they were enacted.

Border Defense Is Not Xenophobia

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In March 2026, hundreds of South Africans marched through the streets of Durban, joined by groups such as Operation Dudula, March and March, and political parties including ActionSA. They demanded stricter border controls, mass deportations of undocumented foreigners, and relief for overburdened public services. Protesters specifically highlighted nationals from Nigeria, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and other countries, blaming uncontrolled inflows for job losses and rising crime. Police used rubber bullets and teargas to disperse the crowds after some incidents of harassment and looting. Nigeria’s high commission urged its citizens to exercise caution.

While the violence is unacceptable, the underlying grievances reflect a fundamental truth of governance: nations have the sovereign right—and responsibility—to manage immigration in the interest of their citizens. South Africa’s official unemployment rate stood at 31.4% in the fourth quarter of 2025, among the highest in the world, even after a modest decline. Data from Statistics South Africa show that foreign-born individuals have significantly higher employment absorption rates (around 64% in earlier measurements) compared to South African-born citizens (around 32%). Their unemployment rate has been notably lower (e.g., 18% versus 31% for locals in referenced periods). This disparity raises legitimate concerns about labor market displacement, particularly in informal sectors where migrants often accept lower wages or precarious conditions without strong union protections.

Additional pressures include strain on housing, healthcare, and education systems already struggling with service delivery failures. Public concerns about links between some undocumented migration and criminal activities further intensify tensions. These issues are not unique to South Africa; they mirror debates occurring across the globe. In the Americas, the United States under President Trump in 2025–2026 dramatically intensified border enforcement. Policies included expanded physical barriers, revived “Remain in Mexico”-style measures, tightened asylum rules, and a surge in ICE operations. The administration reported over 600,000 deportations alongside an estimated 1.9–2.2 million self-deportations in the first year, citing threats to public safety, wages, and sovereignty from record irregular crossings and cartel-linked activities. Interior enforcement saw arrests increase more than fourfold in some metrics, supported by substantial new funding (including $170 billion over four years via legislation for detention and barriers). Mexico has cooperated on returns, acknowledging the limits of absorbing unchecked flows.

Europe provides equally robust examples. In 2025–2026, multiple Schengen countries—including Germany, France, and Italy—extended or reintroduced internal border controls, citing irregular migration, smuggling networks, and security risks. The EU advanced its Migration and Asylum Pact, effective from mid-2026, which emphasizes faster deportations, offshore processing/“return hubs” in third countries, and burden-sharing mechanisms. Deportation orders reached over 240,000 in the first half of 2025 across the Schengen area, with actual returns rising (e.g., France reporting increases of over 25% in prior data). The UK pursued returns agreements and workplace enforcement. Italy expanded external processing deals (e.g., with Albania), while Germany and others eased rules for deporting criminal offenders and rejected asylum seekers. Reasons cited include overwhelmed welfare systems, integration failures, youth crime concerns, and strain on public services—issues persisting despite some decline in irregular arrivals.

South Africa faces parallel realities. Gratitude for international solidarity during the anti-apartheid era should not obligate open borders or uncontrolled inflows today. Nigeria played a leading role in that struggle, contributing an estimated US$61 billion overall (including government efforts to isolate the regime, sanctions advocacy, and scholarships) and establishing the Southern Africa Relief Fund, through which ordinary Nigerians—including civil servants—donated portions of their salaries. Other African and global actors provided diplomatic, financial, and moral support that helped end institutionalized racial oppression—an historic achievement.

Yet apartheid was a system of legalized racial hierarchy and exclusion based on skin color. Uncontrolled immigration today is a separate policy challenge involving capacity, legality, economic fairness, and social cohesion in a democratic South Africa with 31.4% unemployment. Past alliances do not create an open-ended entitlement to residency or resources. Every sovereign state weighs compassion against its ability to integrate newcomers without harming citizens’ prospects. Expecting South Africa to do otherwise sets a double standard not applied to the US, Germany, France, Italy, or the UK. Responsible border management—through expedited deportations of undocumented individuals, targeted enforcement against criminal networks, and legal channels for skilled migrants who demonstrably fill gaps—aligns with global norms. Peaceful protests that highlight policy failures contribute to democratic accountability. Vigilantism and violence undermine the very rule of law South Africa fought to establish. In an age of heightened global migration, prioritizing citizens’ interests through orderly, enforceable immigration policy is not xenophobia. It is basic statecraft practiced by nations worldwide. South Africa has every right to do the same.

Who Made Nigeria the Big Brother of Africa? The Untold Story

Nigeria's Leadership Role in Africa: Source: AI-generated

This is a question that is often asked, especially by younger generation of Africans, born the post-2000s. It's not usually one single event, but rather a combination of historical moments, consistent foreign policy, and cultural influence that built this trust.

Here’s a breakdown of the key events and factors that made other Africans see Nigeria as a reliable representation of the continent.

The Foundational Event: The Anti-Apartheid Struggle (1960s - 1994)

This is, by far, the most significant and frequently cited reason for Nigeria's continental leadership and the goodwill it enjoys. For decades, apartheid in South Africa and minority rule in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) and Portuguese colonies (Angola, Mozambique) were the central moral and political issues for the entire continent.

Nigeria's role was pivotal and multifaceted

Financial Backbone

Nigeria was a founding member and the backbone of the African Liberation Committee of the Organisation of African Unity (OAU, now the African Union). It generously funded liberation movements like the ANC (African National Congress) and PAC in South Africa, as well as ZAPU and ZANU in Rhodesia.

Oil Weapon

After the 1973 oil embargo, Nigeria used its oil wealth as a political tool. It pledged its oil revenues to support frontline states (countries bordering white-ruled territories) that suffered economic and military retaliation from apartheid South Africa. Nigeria also nationalised British Petroleum (BP) assets in the country to pressure the UK, a major ally of the apartheid regime.

Diplomatic and Military Support: Nigeria provided scholarships, training, and safe havens for liberation fighters and exiles. While it didn't deploy combat troops, it provided crucial military logistics and training.

Moral Voice

Nigerian leaders and intellectuals were consistent and vocal opponents of apartheid on the world stage, using their influence at the UN and Commonwealth to push for sanctions and isolate the white minority government in South Africa.

When Nelson Mandela was finally released in 1990 and became President in 1994, he explicitly acknowledged Nigeria's immense contribution. He famously said that Nigeria's role was one that "no other country on the African continent could boast of." This validation from the hero of the liberation struggle cemented Nigeria's status in the minds of generations of Africans. **This was the foundational event that created a deep and lasting reservoir of goodwill.

Key Moments of Leadership and Solidarity

Beyond the anti-apartheid struggle, several other events reinforced this belief:

Active Role in the Formation of the OAU (1963)

As one of the most populous and resource-rich countries to gain independence in 1960, Nigeria played a key role in the creation of the Organisation of African Unity. Its first Prime Minister, Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, was a respected voice for moderation and cooperation, advocating for a gradualist approach to continental unity.

ECOWAS Intervention in Liberia and Sierra Leone (1990s)

 While initially seen with some suspicion (particularly by Francophone countries wary of Nigerian dominance), Nigeria's leadership in the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) was a major test of its commitment to regional stability. It provided over 90% of the troops, funding, and logistics for the ECOMOG peacekeeping forces in Liberia and Sierra Leone. Despite the messy and controversial nature of those wars, Nigerians bled and died to try and stop the chaos in neighbouring countries. For many in West Africa, this demonstrated that Nigeria was willing to pay a heavy price for regional peace.

Debt Cancellation Advocacy (2000s)

 Under President Olusegun Obasanjo, Nigeria successfully negotiated the cancellation of a significant portion of its own massive foreign debt. Crucially, it then used its new economic standing and moral authority to advocate for debt relief for other heavily indebted poor countries in Africa, framing it as a matter of fairness and justice.

African Union and NEPAD

Obasanjo was also a key driver behind the transformation of the OAU into the more robust African Union (AU) and the creation of NEPAD (New Partnership for Africa's Development), a framework for continental development. This positioned Nigeria as a country thinking about Africa's long-term future.

The "Soft Power" Influence: The Everyday Proof

Finally, there's the intangible but powerful cultural and demographic factor that makes Nigeria feel like "Big Brother" to many:

Demographic Weight

Simply put, one in every five or six Black Africans is Nigerian. Its enormous population (largest in Africa) and massive economy (largest in Africa) naturally give it a sense of scale and importance that is hard to ignore. When Nigeria speaks, it speaks for a huge number of people.

 

Cultural Export: The explosion of Nollywood films, Afrobeats music (from Fela Kuti to Burna Boy and Wizkid), and Nigerian literature has made its culture the dominant popular culture in many parts of Africa. This creates a sense of familiarity and shared identity. People in Ghana, Kenya, or Zambia grow up watching Nigerian stories and dancing to Nigerian music, building a cultural connection that feels organic and not imposed.

So, when other Africans support Nigeria, they are often recalling this long history of being the country that put its money, its soldiers, and its international reputation on the line for the cause of a free and united Africa.

Why Burna Boy Deserves More Understanding Than Outrage

Burner Boy Furious with a Sleeping Fan

The noise surrounding Burna Boy’s recent concert incident has been loud and predictable. A fan was reportedly “sleeping” in the front row, Burna Boy asked that he be escorted out, and suddenly the artist became the villain of the entire story. But as I watched the reactions pour in, I couldn’t help noticing a pattern that repeats itself every time a major star is involved in  controversy: we judge the mighty by standards we would never apply to ordinary people.

Let’s start with the basics. A front-row concert seat is not a quiet place. It is the beating heart of the event, where massive speakers, flashing lights, and raw energy collide. Anyone who claims to be “sleeping” there raises immediate questions. Was it genuine exhaustion? A deliberate display of disrespect? Or an attention-seeking stunt?

We may never know. But I know this: if I were performing—talking, singing, or presenting—and the person directly in front of me pretended to sleep, I would feel insulted. It is human nature. It drains your morale. It disrupts your flow. And it communicates a message, whether intended or not.

So I understand why Burna Boy acted. He responded as a human being, not as a robot programmed to ignore provocation.

Yet once again, the reaction—not the provocation—dominated the conversation.

This is the burden of fame. When Burna Boy sought police help after being slandered by another entertainer who insinuated that Diddy’s troubles implicated him, he was condemned. The person spreading the unfounded accusation practically walked free in the court of public opinion.

The message is clear: if you are famous, you must swallow insults quietly. You must absorb disrespect gracefully. Any attempt to defend your dignity becomes evidence of arrogance.

This double standard is not unique to Nigeria. The world saw it play out at the 2022 Oscars when Will Smith reacted emotionally to a joke about Jada Pinkett Smith. Chris Rock’s comment—hurtful and insensitive—was quickly overshadowed by Smith’s slap. Rather than acknowledge that even celebrities can be pushed too far, society demanded that Smith should have been above all human emotion because he was a “big name.”

It is the same flawed logic applied to Burna Boy.

The truth is simple: Celebrities remain human, no matter how large their stages or how loud their applause. They get offended. They react. They protect themselves. And sometimes, they make imperfect choices—just like the rest of us.

But unlike the rest of us, every gesture they make is magnified through a global microscope.

If Burna Boy were an unknown artist, the “sleeping fan” incident would never have made headlines. But because he is a global force, everything he does attracts moral judgment, often without context.

I am not arguing that stars should never be criticized. I am arguing that criticism should be honest—and fair.

Before attacking Burna Boy, we should ask more balanced questions:
Why was the fan “asleep” in the loudest part of the hall?
Why must famous people endure deliberate disrespect silently?
And why do we gloss over provocations simply because the target happens to be a superstar?

Until we answer these questions, we will continue punishing celebrities not for wrongdoing but for being human in a world that refuses to see their humanity.