Opinion

By Muhammad Mikail

On June 26, 2026, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu signed the National Identity Management Commission (NIMC) Act 2026 into law at the State House in Abuja, before an audience that included the trailblazer DG/CEO of the National Identity Management Commission, NIMC, Engr, Abisoye Coker-Odusote, the Senate President, the Deputy Speaker of the House, the Attorney General, the Minister of Interior, and a World Bank representative. The gathering was deliberately high-profile: the new law closes a 19-year gap in Nigeria’s identity system and reshapes how citizens, businesses, and the government will trust each other online. The Act officially repeals and replaces the NIMC Act of 2007, which had governed Nigeria’s identity system and remained untouched even before smartphones, biometric enrolment, or mobile banking became part of everyday Nigerian life.

For most citizens, the significance of a piece of legislation like this is easy to miss. And very few people will ever read its full text. This new Act 2026 determines how easily a young graduate opens a bank account, how a small trader secures a loan, how a Nigerian abroad renews a passport, and how confidently anyone can prove who they are, online or in person.

Why the Old Law Had to Go

When the original NIMC Act was passed in 2007, Nigeria had no national-scale biometric enrolment infrastructure and no meaningful digital economy to speak of. That changed dramatically over almost the two decades that followed: the National Identification Number (NIN) became mandatory for SIM registration, passport applications, bank account opening, and voter registration. As digital services multiplied, the risks also did. Identity theft, fraudulent NIN registrations, and the phishing of biometric data became live problems that the 2007 framework was never built to address. It had nothing to say about digital credentials, cybersecurity obligations, or how private companies overseeing NIN-linked data should behave. The new Act closes that gap. Thus far, officials and legal analysts point to four structural shifts at the heart of the reform:

NIMC becomes Nigeria’s digital trust authority. The single biggest change is the designation of NIMC as the Root Certification Authority for Nigeria’s National Public Key Infrastructure (PKI) and Digital Public Infrastructure (DPI). In practical terms, NIMC now controls the digital “keys” that make online transactions verifiable and trustworthy. 

“One Person, One Identity” is now the law. The NIN is formally established as Nigeria’s foundational identity credential, with the NIMC empowered to enable secure, interoperable data exchange among government agencies, financial institutions, and private-sector organisations that previously operated on fragmented, disconnected systems.

Data protection gets real teeth. The 2026 Act aligns NIMC’s practices with the Nigeria Data Protection Act (NDPA) and international privacy standards, meaning biometrics, addresses, and linked credentials must now be processed and stored under legally defined rules with NIMC committing to audit enrolment partners and third-party integrators more closely.

Penalties are sharper, and enforcement powers wider. Companies now face fines running into tens of millions of naira, while offences such as impersonation, multiple registration, and unauthorised access to identity data attract custodial sentences. NIMC’s investigative powers now extend to search, seizure, and, subject to judicial authorisation, data decryption.

The Commission’s board has also been reconstituted to include representatives from 14 government institutions, including INEC, the Nigeria Police Force, the DSS, the EFCC, the Central Bank of Nigeria, and the Office of the National Security Adviser. This signals that identity management is now of huge government concern.

The Implications for Identity Development

For nearly twenty years, Nigeria’s identity system evolved in a fragmented manner. NIN requirements were bolted agency by agency, without a unifying legal architecture. The 2026 Act gives that patchwork a single statutory backbone.

ID analysts rank Nigeria among Africa’s most mature digital identity ecosystems, alongside Kenya, Ethiopia, and South Africa. A legally grounded, PKI-backed identity system positions Nigeria for cross-border interoperability at a moment when West African economic integration is deepening, becoming a potential regional asset. The law also explicitly widens access for Nigerians in the diaspora, an acknowledgement that identity is a right and the attendant ID infrastructure needs to follow citizens wherever they live.

What It Means for Nigeria’s Digital Economy

The government have tied the Act directly to Nigeria’s ambition of building a one-trillion-dollar economy, arguing that a trusted, interoperable identity layer is a precondition for the digital services that ambition depends on. When banks, telecoms, insurers, and government agencies can all verify identity against a single authoritative source rather than duplicating know-your-customer processes, transaction costs fall, and fraud becomes harder to commit. Analysts following the reform expect it to strengthen the investment case for fintech expansion, e-commerce, and digital lending. These are sectors that all depend on being able to cheaply and quickly verify that the person on the other end of a transaction is real. Reduced duplication across agencies is also expected to improve the efficiency of public service delivery more broadly, from tax administration to social intervention programmes that need to verify beneficiaries accurately.

What It Means for the Everyday Nigerian and Legal Resident

Easier, wider access to services: With the NIN legally cemented as the reference point for passports, bank accounts, insurance, tax filing, and credit applications, NIMC has stated that citizens, including those in the diaspora, can expect easier and convenient access to identity-linked services, and stronger interoperability means fewer redundant registrations across agencies.

Stronger data protection: For the first time, there is a clear legal obligation governing how a Nigerian’s biometric and personal data must be managed, whether by NIMC itself or by any private company plugging into its verification infrastructure. 

Higher stakes, and higher expectations. The Act’s tougher penalties offer citizens greater protection against identity fraud. Also, to meet with President Tinubu’s directive of enrolling every Nigerian by the end of 2026 means NIMC would need to register more than three million people every month, DG/CEO NIMC said in an interview on Channels TV recently that NIMC is collaborating with partners under the World Bank-supported Nigeria Digital Identification for Development (NDID4D) Project to accelerate nationwide enrolment. This offers real hope of inclusion, particularly for rural and lower-income Nigerians who remain hardest to reach. 

The road ahead 

The NIMC Act 2026 is, by most independent accounts, a genuinely significant piece of reform. It closes a legal vacuum that persisted across four presidential administrations and a mobile internet revolution, the original drafters of the NIMC Act 2007 never anticipated. But the law itself only creates the scaffolding. The harder work of auditing enrolment partners, enforcing data-breach penalties, and reaching citizens outside the system remains.

Conclusively, I urge the NIMC, critical stakeholders and relevant agencies, organisations, CSOs and players in the ID ecosystem to support the NIMC and ensure the ACT of 2026 ultimately strengthens public trust, serves as a means to encourage nationwide enrolment for the NIN, and ensures the institutions enforcing it are themselves held to account. Ultimately, we must collectively ensure that all intended benefits, services, and access that the Act 2026 brings becomea lived reality for the average Nigerian and legal resident, and not another entry on the country’s lengthy list of good intentions.

Muhammad Mikail is a communications professional and writes from Abuja. He can be reached via muhammadnmikail.mm@gmail.com

Dear Editor,

I write to draw urgent attention to the tragic state of the Kofan Doka and Agoro Bridges—Federal Government Road projects that have become death traps for residents of Zaria Local Government due to prolonged abandonment.

Initiated by former Kaduna State Governor, Nasir El-Rufai, the Kofan Doka cloverleaf bridge, the New Jos Road, and Agoro Bridge were never completed. Today, under Governor Uba Sani, there is still no sign of progress. Even the Speaker of the House of Representatives, Hon Abbas Tajuddeen, who once promised to ensure their continuation, has failed to follow through.

The condition of these bridges represents more than just a construction delay; it symbolises the disconnect between the government and the people.

But this is not just about broken promises. Whenever it rains, the areas become completely impassable. The flooding cuts off entire communities, endangers motorists, and puts schoolchildren and traders at serious risk of drowning or being swept away. We live in constant fear every time the clouds gather.

While our leaders trade political statements, we are left to wade through floodwaters, lose goods, and watch our children risk their lives just to get to school. This is unacceptable.

The Kofan Doka and Agoro bridges are on Trunk-A roads, yet no tier of government—federal, state, or legislative—has taken responsibility.

We are not asking for favours. We are demanding action. Complete the bridge before this rainy season claims a life.

I urge all parties involved, including the Kaduna State Government, the Federal Government, and our representatives in the National Assembly, to prioritise the completion of the Kofan Doka Bridge, the Agoro Bridge, and the New Jos Road. It is time to move beyond rhetoric and deliver concrete results for the people of Zaria Local Government and for Kaduna State at large.

Sincerely,

Yazeed Salisu

salisuyazeed@yahoo.com

By Maimuna Katuka Aliyu

Trachoma is more than an eye infection. It is a quiet destroyer of sight and dignity, affecting millions of vulnerable people around the world—especially in places where clean water is scarce, healthcare is distant, and poverty runs deep.

Caused by the bacterium “Chlamydia trachomatis”, trachoma spreads through direct contact with infected eye or nose secretions, as well as indirectly through contaminated items. In overcrowded communities where basic sanitation is poor, the disease thrives.

But this is not a new threat. Trachoma has haunted humanity for centuries. As far back as 1500 BC, ancient Egyptian scrolls described eye diseases that closely resemble it. In the 19th century, outbreaks became widespread in densely populated areas.

By the 20th century, global efforts to fight it began taking shape, especially with the intervention of the World Health Organization (WHO) and other health bodies. Today, trachoma remains one of the world’s leading causes of preventable blindness.

And the burden it places on affected communities is staggering. For individuals, the disease often begins with repeated infections. Over time, the eyelids turn inward in a condition called trichiasis, causing the lashes to scrape against the cornea.

The result is chronic pain and, eventually, blindness. For families, the impact is just as devastating. When a parent loses their vision, their ability to work and care for their children suffers. When a child goes blind, their education is interrupted, and their future becomes uncertain.

Across entire communities, this loss of productivity and well-being adds up to high economic and social costs. The stigma can be equally painful. In many places, those affected by trachoma are isolated or ridiculed—stripped of confidence and dignity.

But there is hope. Trachoma is preventable. It is also treatable, especially when detected early. And that is why the role of government is so vital.

National and local authorities must lead the fight with robust public health campaigns—promoting hygiene, encouraging regular eye checkups, and ensuring that children grow up with clean faces and clean water.

Clinics must be established in underserved areas, and healthcare workers must be trained to identify and treat the disease effectively. Collaboration is also key. By partnering with international organizations such as the WHO and the Carter Center, governments can access resources, share knowledge, and scale up proven interventions.

Yet governments alone cannot eliminate trachoma. Communities must also rise to the task. We need individuals who speak up—advocating for improved sanitation, better access to care, and education for all.

We need families and neighbours who support those affected instead of shaming them. And we need young people who take the lead in hygiene campaigns, who believe that blindness from trachoma is one injustice we can—and must—end.

The fight against trachoma is a shared responsibility. It is not just about medicine. It is about dignity. It is about giving people the chance to see their children grow, to live and work with pride, and to be seen—not for their illness—but for their worth.

The path to eliminating trachoma is clear. What is needed now is the will to walk it together—governments, communities, and every one of us who believes in a future where no one loses their sight to a disease that should already be history.

By Rabi Ummi Umar

The Nigerian healthcare system is often dismissed because of the unenviable reputation it has built over decades of systemic failure. It is a common refrain across the country that citizens simply do not trust the medical institutions meant to save them.

For those who can afford it, the immediate solution to a serious diagnosis is to board a flight out of the country, seeking medical treatment abroad where systems are functional.

And for the rest of the population, walking into a local hospital is less an exercise in hope and more an act of desperate survival, frequently marred by anxiety about what might happen inside.

Personal encounters with our healthcare infrastructure often leave deep scars. I often find myself silently whispering, ‘I pray nobody has to experience this.’ Sadly, too many Nigerians have stories of facing decaying infrastructure, enduring the dismissive or outright rude attitudes of overworked nurses, or being left unattended in crowded corridors.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking reality is the ubiquitous ‘payment before service’ policy. In moments when a patient is actively battling for their life, a life that is irreplaceable, the administrative unit, or hospital policy, prioritises financial clearance over immediate clinical intervention.

This, in my opinion, is an ethical failure that leaves families helpless and hollows out the core purpose of medicine. It undermines the very principles of the Hippocratic Oath and the Nightingale Pledge that doctors and nurses take before practising.

This crisis of confidence in our healthcare system was perfectly articulated at a recent book unveiling I attended at the Yar’Adua Centre in the Federal Capital Territory, Abuja.

The book, Trust Renewal: The Integrity Call for Better Health for All, authored by Dr Abdullahi Jubril Mohammed, offers a resonant critique of our current trajectory. During the launch, he stated an earnest truth too often overlooked: health systems do not succeed merely because of advanced technology or concrete infrastructure. Instead, they succeed or fail along the patient’s path based on a single, invisible metric — trust.

When trust is absent, the entire system fractures. Even when medical facilities receive structural upgrades or well-funded international aid, these interventions fail to achieve their potential because the human connection between provider and patient has been broken.

Patients seek treatment abroad not just for better machines, but because they believe unsafe practices thrive in an environment devoid of accountability, and that the workers within that environment have grown numb to human suffering. To change this narrative, the Nigerian healthcare system must be consciously rebuilt on a foundation of ethical, accountable behaviour.

Renewing this trust requires a collaborative effort from policymakers, healthcare providers, civil society, and patients themselves. Medical institutions must actively promote transparency, especially concerning service delays, and prioritise patient feedback as a tool for institutional growth rather than dismissing it as mere complaining.

Practitioners need to understand that listening to a patient’s experience is just as vital as reading their clinical charts.

Building a better health system requires moving beyond physical structures and investing heavily in the integrity of the care provided. Only when patients feel safe, valued, and heard can we begin to heal the system itself.

Rabi Ummi Umar is a writer in Abuja, and she can be reached via rabiumar058@gmail.com.

By Zayyad I. Muhammad 

President Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s decision to retain Vice President Kashim Shettima as his running mate for the 2027 presidential election is both a political and strategic calculation. Rather than introducing uncertainty into an already established political partnership, the President has chosen continuity, a decision that reflects the realities of Nigeria’s electoral politics, geopolitical balancing, and coalition-building.

Politics, particularly presidential politics in Nigeria, is rarely driven by sentiment. It is fundamentally about numbers, alliances, regional interests, and electoral strategy. Every major decision is weighed against one overriding objective: securing the broadest possible coalition needed to win an election. Viewed from that perspective, retaining Shettima was arguably the most pragmatic option available to the President.

One of the most immediate advantages of the decision is that it effectively closes the chapter on the controversy surrounding the Muslim-Muslim ticket. Ahead of the 2023 presidential election, the APC’s decision to field two Muslim candidates generated widespread debate, especially among many Christians who expressed concerns about religious inclusion and national balance.

However, after more than three years in office, that issue has largely lost its political intensity. While differing opinions remain, the fears that dominated public discourse during the 2023 campaign have, to a considerable extent, subsided. By retaining Shettima, President Tinubu has denied political opponents the opportunity to revive an issue whose electoral potency has significantly diminished.

Beyond the religious debate lies an even more delicate consideration: Nigeria’s geopolitical balance. Had President Tinubu replaced Shettima with another politician from the North-East, the North-West, the country’s largest voting bloc, could have interpreted the move as another instance in which its political aspirations were overlooked, potentially reigniting debates about equity and representation.

Conversely, choosing a replacement from the North-West would almost certainly have generated discontent in the North-East. Having produced the incumbent Vice President, the region would naturally expect to retain the position. Removing Shettima without any compelling political or governance justification could have alienated key stakeholders and weakened support in a region that remains strategically important to the APC.

Some time ago, a number of individuals campaigned for the selection of a northern Christian as the Vice President, arguing that a Muslim-Christian ticket would be more politically acceptable. While the proposal appealed to those seeking religious balancing, it overlooked the practical realities of Nigerian presidential elections.

For a southern Muslim presidential candidate seeking the presidency, pairing with a northern Christian is not necessarily the most pragmatic electoral formula if the objective is to maximise support across Northern Nigeria. Presidential elections are rarely won on symbolism alone. They are won through careful coalition-building, political structures, regional alliances, and voting strength. In Nigeria, electoral success is driven as much by geopolitical realities and numbers as it is by perception.

President Tinubu has built his political career on strategic calculation rather than emotional decision-making. Over several decades, he has demonstrated an ability to assemble winning political coalitions by focusing on electoral arithmetic, regional dynamics, and long-term political stability. His decision to retain Shettima is consistent with that political philosophy.

There is also the question of continuity. Since assuming office in 2023, Tinubu and Shettima have worked together to lead the administration, build relationships across government, and strengthen the APC’s political structures nationwide. Replacing a sitting Vice President without a compelling reason could have created unnecessary speculation about internal divisions and handed the opposition a fresh political narrative.

By retaining Shettima, President Tinubu has instead projected stability, confidence, and consistency. The decision preserves an established partnership, reassures party supporters, and allows the APC to approach the 2027 election with a united front.

Ultimately, successful presidential campaigns are built not on emotion but on careful political judgment. Difficult decisions are inevitable, but experienced politicians choose the option that minimises political risk while maximising electoral advantage.

Judged against Nigeria’s electoral realities, geopolitical sensitivities, and the imperative of preserving a broad national coalition, President Tinubu’s decision to retain Vice President Kashim Shettima was not only the least controversial choice,it was the most politically strategic.

Zayyad I. Muhammad writes Abuja via zaymohd@yahoo.com.

By Mohammed Mohammed Haruna, PhD, mnipr

Every economy has its insiders and its outsiders. The distinction is not always determined by citizenship, geography or even willingness to work. Sometimes, it is drawn quietly by access: access to credit, identity, insurance, knowledge, technology and the institutional pathways through which human effort is converted into economic possibility. Millions may live within an economy, trade within it, labour for it and contribute daily to its survival, yet remain strangely absent from its most productive opportunities. They are present in the marketplace but invisible to formal credit, active in enterprise but largely unknown to the financial system, economically alive but institutionally unseen.

The question, therefore, is no longer merely how large an economy can become, but who gets to participate in its enlargement. Nigeria’s aspiration to build a trillion-dollar economy makes that question particularly urgent. A larger Gross Domestic Product may announce the expansion of national output, but it does not, by itself, tell us how widely economic agency has travelled. Growth can expand while exclusion survives. Wealth can accumulate while opportunity remains fenced. A country can become statistically richer without sufficiently enlarging the economic citizenship of its people.

There is, after all, a difference between economic enlargement and development. An economy may double in size while reproducing substantially the same geography of privilege and exclusion. Development begins when more citizens acquire the tools, knowledge, protection, institutional connections and opportunities through which their latent capacities can become productive economic agency. It is within this tension between economic ambition and economic participation that the public assignment of Dr. Nurudeen Abubakar Zauro, Technical Adviser to the President on Economic and Financial Inclusion in the Office of the Vice President and a leading figure in the Secretariat of the Presidential Committee on Economic and Financial Inclusion (PreCEFI), deserves serious examination.

The temptation in writing about a public officer is often to begin with the individual: his certificates, appointments, conferences, awards and proximity to power. But perhaps the more useful starting point in understanding Zauro is not the man but the idea. That idea is inclusion, and more particularly, the conviction that belonging to an economy should mean more than merely surviving within its territorial boundaries.

The woman selling produce in a rural market, the artisan working from an informal workshop, the smallholder farmer vulnerable to one failed season and the young graduate possessing a viable idea but no pathway to capital are not necessarily unproductive people. Frequently, they are disconnected people. Their exclusion is not always a deficit of effort. It can be a deficit of institutional connection.

The question that appears to have followed Zauro through his academic preparation, training in accounting and finance, years in central banking and digital financial inclusion, and now his assignment within the Presidency is therefore a fundamental development question: how does the formal economy make room for those whose energy sustains commerce but whose circumstances keep them at the margins of capital, technology, insurance and institutional opportunity?

There is a meaningful difference between discovering an idea after receiving an appointment and arriving at an appointment with a question that has already occupied one’s intellectual and professional imagination. In the first case, the office educates the officer. In the second, preparation and opportunity encounter each other. Zauro’s trajectory increasingly appears closer to the latter.

His Central Bank of Nigeria experience is particularly important in understanding this continuity. Central banking in a developing economy offers an unusual window into the contradictions of development. At one level is the economy of policy rates, payment systems, credit aggregates, financial institutions and regulatory architecture. At another is the lived economy of the roadside trader, the smallholder farmer, the young entrepreneur and the woman whose enterprise may be viable but whose economic existence remains inadequately captured by the structures through which formal capital is allocated.

The important policy question is how to connect these two economies, because that is the last-mile problem of development. A financial system can become increasingly sophisticated without becoming sufficiently inclusive. Digital platforms can multiply while digital illiteracy persists. Credit can expand while small enterprises without conventional collateral remain stranded. Citizens may own bank accounts yet remain without meaningful access to affordable credit, pensions, insurance, investment knowledge or protection against shocks capable of erasing years of household progress. To be banked, therefore, is not necessarily to be economically included, and even to be financially included is not automatically to be financially secure.

This distinction is central to any serious assessment of the policy architecture associated with Zauro’s present assignment. The Aso Accord on Economic and Financial Inclusion represents one expression of this wider thinking. Its significance lies in the attempt to broaden the vocabulary of inclusion beyond ownership of a bank account towards finance, digital infrastructure, financial literacy, underserved communities, women, young people, rural populations and small businesses.

The deeper philosophy is important. Financial inclusion, properly understood, is not merely the act of moving more citizens into banking halls or onto digital payment platforms. It is the dismantling of barriers between human capacity and productive opportunity. The female trader already understands inventory. The farmer understands production. The artisan possesses skill. The young graduate may possess an idea. What is often missing is the connective institutional tissue: identity, finance, information, professional networks, insurance, digital competence and the confidence to navigate increasingly complex formal systems.

Financial inclusion, viewed this way, is not charity. It is productivity policy. Every viable enterprise permanently stranded outside formal finance represents potential output unrealised. Every productive woman unable to access appropriate financial services represents foregone economic agency. Every smallholder farmer left without suitable insurance remains one shock away from losing productive assets. Every digitally excluded citizen risks becoming progressively more peripheral to an economy increasingly organised around data, connectivity and electronic transactions.

This is also why PreCEFI should ultimately be judged not by the number of meetings it convenes but by whether it can help solve one of Nigeria’s most persistent governance problems: institutional fragmentation. Nigeria rarely suffers from an absolute absence of institutions. More often, it suffers from insufficient coordination among them. One institution holds identity data. Another regulates payments. Another supervises financial institutions. Different agencies administer social programmes. State governments possess distinct demographic and economic realities. Development partners operate interventions. Private firms possess technology. Professional bodies hold expertise. Yet the excluded citizen experiences the cumulative consequences when these systems fail to connect. The deficit can therefore be a coordination deficit.

PreCEFI’s potential importance lies in its attempt to create an architecture around this fragmentation. Its engagements with subnational governments, federal institutions, financial-sector actors, professional bodies, private organisations and development partners point towards what might be described as institutional orchestration. The effective public officer in a modern developmental state cannot always command results into existence. Important policy outcomes frequently sit across the statutory boundaries of several institutions. Progress therefore requires persuasion, coalition-building, shared ownership, interoperable systems and the patient translation of different institutional languages into common action. It is an administrative craft that often attracts little theatre but can produce consequential outcomes when sustained with discipline.

No serious account of Zauro’s emerging public-service footprint, however, should construct the mythology of the solitary technocrat. Capacity may reside in an individual, but public service remains an institutional enterprise. Ideas require room. Initiative requires confidence. Responsibility requires trust. Innovation within government frequently requires leaders sufficiently confident in their own authority to identify capable people, expose them to responsibility and allow their preparation to be tested against the difficult realities of governance.

It is here that the role of Zauro’s principals becomes indispensable to an honest understanding of his journey. His Excellency, Senator Kashim Shettima, GCON, Vice President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, has provided strategic political leadership for the economic and financial inclusion agenda within the responsibilities entrusted to his Office. Alongside him, Senator Ibrahim Hassan Hadejia, Deputy Chief of Staff to the President in the Office of the Vice President, occupies an important position within the institutional machinery through which complex assignments are coordinated and sustained.

From the guidance, trust, mentorship, counsel and institutional support of these principals, Zauro has evidently benefited immensely. That fact diminishes neither his preparation nor his exertions. It properly contextualises them. One of the least discussed responsibilities of leadership is the identification and deployment of competence. Nations do not progress merely because talented people exist. Every country has intelligent citizens. Progress occurs when systems of leadership can recognise capacity, assign responsibility, provide guidance and create sufficient institutional space for competent people to contribute towards clearly defined public purposes.

Preparation without opportunity can remain dormant, while opportunity without trust can remain constrained. When preparation encounters the confidence of perceptive leadership, however, public service can become a platform for consequential action. The larger framework remains the mandate of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu and the administration’s aspiration for a stronger and much larger Nigerian economy. Yet the expansion of national output creates an unavoidable policy obligation: growth must find citizens, and the statistics must eventually acquire faces.

Reform cannot remain indefinitely at the level of macroeconomic abstraction. Its social and political legitimacy must ultimately be encountered in opportunity, enterprise, jobs, resilience and the expanded ability of citizens to participate productively in economic life. This is where the work of inclusion meets the broader presidential mandate. The President provides the national reform and development direction. The Vice President provides strategic leadership across responsibilities entrusted to his Office. The Deputy Chief of Staff supports the coordination required to move complex assignments through government. Technical officers such as Zauro are given specialised responsibilities through which aspects of the larger ambition may acquire operational form. The technical officer does not work outside the national blueprint. He works within it.

Several initiatives associated with the present inclusion agenda illuminate the thinking behind this work. The ambition to train millions of Nigerians in financial inclusion and literacy, including through collaboration with professional bodies, rests on an important development premise: capacity is infrastructure. Infrastructure, in the conventional imagination, is concrete, steel, electricity, rail and fibre. These are indispensable, but there is another infrastructure without which physical and technological investments may yield far less than their potential. That infrastructure is human competence.

A sophisticated financial system has limited developmental reach when millions lack the knowledge and confidence required to navigate it. A digital platform is only as inclusive as the ability of its intended users to understand and use it safely. Credit availability means little to a potential entrepreneur who cannot formalise, structure or communicate the economics of an enterprise. A road connects places, while knowledge connects people to possibilities. Both are infrastructures of development.

The same logic applies to women’s economic participation. Initiatives such as She’s Included should not be understood as exercises in benevolence. Women’s economic inclusion is economic arithmetic. A society cannot constrain the productive capacity of a substantial proportion of its population and still expect to optimise national output. The exclusion of women from finance, skills, networks and capital represents foregone enterprise, weakened household resilience and diminished national productivity.

Effective inclusion, however, also requires recognising that uniformity is not equity. A female micro-entrepreneur operating informally, carrying disproportionate care responsibilities and possessing little conventional collateral does not encounter the financial system from the same starting position as a salaried professional. Giving both the same product and declaring the system inclusive is to confuse sameness with fairness. The test of a gender-responsive inclusion agenda is therefore not how many women attend an event or open an account, but whether more women acquire durable economic agency.

That distinction brings us to the most important part of the discussion: the next frontier. The work associated with Zauro and PreCEFI may have established a compelling architecture of intention, but public policy eventually encounters its hardest question after the communiqués, accords, committees, partnerships and launches have been completed. The question is what actually changed.

For the present inclusion agenda to mature into a durable national institution, and for Zauro himself to become even more effective in the assignment entrusted to him, the next phase should move decisively from policy mobilisation towards an independently measurable architecture of outcomes.

The first requirement is a public inclusion scorecard. Nigeria should be able to see, at regular intervals and preferably at state and local levels, not merely how many citizens possess accounts but how many actively save, obtain responsible credit, hold insurance, use digital financial services safely, build viable enterprises and demonstrate improved financial resilience. What gets announced attracts attention, but what gets measured attracts accountability.

The second requirement is to move from counting beneficiaries to tracking developmental journeys. Training millions of people may be impressive as an output, but the more consequential questions arise afterwards. How many acquired demonstrable competence? How many formalised enterprises? How many accessed appropriate finance? How many increased revenue, created employment or improved household resilience? Public policy should not confuse reach with impact.

The third requirement is an independent evaluation mechanism. PreCEFI and its partners should periodically invite credible universities, research institutions and independent evaluators to assess major interventions against published baselines and targets. The purpose would not be to embarrass government but to protect policy from the dangers of self-congratulation. Serious institutions learn in public, and strong policy leadership should be confident enough to allow evidence to confirm success, identify weaknesses and guide correction.

The fourth requirement is a stronger subnational delivery architecture. Exclusion is experienced locally even when policy is designed nationally. The constraints confronting a woman entrepreneur in Lagos may differ substantially from those facing a farmer in Kebbi, a trader in Aba or a pastoral community in Adamawa. A national strategy therefore needs state-level delivery compacts, locally disaggregated data and measurable responsibilities for implementation partners. Abuja can coordinate inclusion, but it cannot manufacture every last mile.

The fifth requirement is deeper integration of Nigeria’s emerging digital public infrastructure. Identity, payments and appropriately governed data-sharing systems should increasingly work together so that citizens do not repeatedly prove their existence to disconnected institutions. Interoperability, however, must be accompanied by strong privacy, cybersecurity, consumer protection and accessible grievance-redress mechanisms. The excluded citizen should not be invited into the digital economy only to become the easiest victim within it.

The sixth requirement is the creation of a permanent citizen feedback architecture. The people for whom inclusion policies are designed should have structured mechanisms for reporting what works, what excludes them and where products or programmes fail. Policy elites often understand systems from the perspective of those who design them, while citizens experience them from the point at which they break down. That knowledge is itself valuable data and should be systematically incorporated into programme design and evaluation.

The seventh requirement is institutional permanence. The ultimate test of PreCEFI will be whether its work becomes embedded deeply enough in national and subnational systems to survive individual officeholders and political transitions. Personality may mobilise an agenda, but institutions must preserve it. The strongest legacy Zauro and his colleagues can build would therefore not merely be a collection of successful programmes, but an inclusion architecture capable of sustaining itself beyond the tenure of any particular administration or public officer.

These are not arguments against Zauro’s work. They are arguments for its maturation. Indeed, avoiding hagiography requires acknowledging that the significance of a public officer lies not in being beyond criticism but in being capable of converting scrutiny into better public outcomes. For Zauro, this may be the deeper meaning of the trust reposed in him by his principals. Trust in public service is not a decoration. It is a debt payable in results.

Gratitude to President Tinubu for the national mandate within which the assignment finds its purpose, to Vice President Shettima for the guidance, mentorship, confidence and strategic leadership that have given Zauro’s preparation room for expression, and to Senator Hadejia for the counsel, institutional support and coordination surrounding the assignment should not merely be matters of protocol. They are part of the moral story of opportunity.

The greatest tribute to confidence, however, is not repeated acknowledgement. It is the work that makes the trust count. It is ensuring that the privilege of serving close to the centre of power is converted into value for people who may never enter the gates of the Presidential Villa, never sit at a policy roundtable and never know the names of those designing the frameworks that shape their economic lives.

Those citizens include the woman seeking capital to enlarge h

By Ibrahim Happiness

I read with keen interest two articles published on June 2, 2026. One was the fact that Murtala Muhammed International Airport  is not insured, and another titled, “Teachers from Hell.” Though they address different issues, both expose a troubling reality in Nigeria: the persistent failure to enforce laws and regulations designed to protect citizens.

The article on the insurance status of the Murtala Muhammed International Airport (MMIA) raises serious questions about accountability in public institutions. If indeed Nigeria’s busiest airport operated without adequate insurance coverage despite clear regulatory requirements, then this represents not merely an administrative oversight but a failure of governance. The existence of regulations means little when compliance is not enforced.

What makes the situation particularly concerning is that the consequences of such lapses are often borne by the public. The approval of hundreds of billions of naira for airport rehabilitation highlights the enormous cost of neglecting basic risk management measures. Nigerians deserve to know how such a critical national asset was allowed to operate without the safeguards prescribed by law and who should be held responsible.

The article’s call for accountability is therefore timely and necessary. Beyond assurances and directives, there should be transparency regarding the circumstances that led to the lapse and concrete measures to prevent a recurrence. Public confidence can only be restored when accountability is visible and meaningful.

The second article, “Teachers from Hell,” addresses an equally disturbing issue: the violation of trust within educational institutions. Reports of teachers and school officials involved in kidnapping, sexual abuse, and other crimes against children are deeply troubling. Schools are meant to be safe spaces where children learn, grow, and develop. When those entrusted with their care become perpetrators of abuse, the consequences extend far beyond the immediate victims.

The cases highlighted in the article demonstrate the urgent need for stronger safeguarding measures in schools. Thorough background checks, effective monitoring systems, child protection policies, and accessible reporting channels must become standard practice across both public and private educational institutions.

Equally important is the need to educate children about personal safety and their rights. Awareness empowers children to recognise inappropriate behaviour and seek help when necessary. At the same time, swift prosecution of offenders remains essential to ensuring justice and deterring future abuse.

Although one article focuses on airport management and the other on child protection, both ultimately point to the same challenge: the gap between policy and implementation. Nigeria has laws, regulations, and institutional frameworks in place. What is often lacking is the commitment to enforce them consistently and effectively.

The fire incident at MMIA and the abuse cases in schools are reminders that regulations alone cannot guarantee safety. Without accountability, oversight, and enforcement, even the best policies become little more than words on paper.

Nigeria’s progress will not be measured by the number of laws it enacts but by how faithfully those laws are implemented. Citizens deserve institutions that uphold standards, protect lives, and act responsibly before crises occur, rather than after the damage is done.

Ibrahim Happiness is a 300-level student in Strategic Communication at the University of Abuja. She can be reached at: happinessibrahim11@gmail.com.

By Prince Daniel Aboki

Every Nigerian has the constitutional right to support any political party or candidate of their choice. That right is guaranteed by the Constitution and should always be respected.

However, an industry cannot thrive when, every election cycle, a few individuals position themselves as speaking on behalf of everyone, mobilising groups to endorse politicians and, in the process, reducing the industry’s engagement with government to the pursuit of personal benefits.

When this becomes the dominant culture, the industry risks not being taken seriously. Government and development partners are beginning to see the industry not as a strategic economic sector but as a collection of individuals seeking patronage every four years. More often than not, the distribution of cash gifts, vehicles, and other favours also creates avoidable divisions within the industry, as practitioners become aligned with competing political interests. Instead of fostering unity around the collective growth of Kannywood, election seasons too often leave the industry fragmented long after the campaigns have ended.

Politicians understand the influence that Kannywood celebrities command, particularly in Kano and across Northern Nigeria. They know these personalities can shape public opinion, mobilise supporters, and amplify campaign messages during elections. That influence is valuable, but it should be used as a bargaining tool to secure lasting benefits for the entire industry—not for personal aggrandisement. Our collective influence should translate into meaningful negotiations for better policies, sustainable funding, stronger institutions, improved infrastructure, and greater opportunities for everyone in Kannywood, rather than short-term personal gains for a few individuals.

Kannywood is far bigger than election campaigns. It is one of Northern Nigeria’s greatest cultural and economic assets. It has the capacity to create thousands of jobs, preserve and promote our culture, strengthen social values, attract tourism, earn foreign exchange, stimulate investment, and project Northern Nigeria to the world.

What makes this even more compelling is that Kannywood has already demonstrated its commercial strength. Some of its producers operate some of the biggest and most successful YouTube channels in Nigeria, attracting millions of views and building significant audiences worldwide. That success should not remain the achievement of a few individuals. It should be consolidated into an industry-wide strategy that creates opportunities for younger filmmakers, actors, writers, directors, editors, cinematographers, musicians, and other creative professionals.

This is the conversation we should be having with those in office and those seeking public office.

Rather than seeking cash gifts, vehicles, or personal favours, we should be demanding policies that strengthen the entire industry: film villages, production funds, affordable financing, stronger copyright protection, modern cinema infrastructure, professional training, international partnerships, tax incentives, and support for participation in global film markets and festivals. That is how enduring creative industries are built.

Over the years, Nollywood has increasingly engaged government and development partners on issues that strengthen the industry’s ecosystem. The conversation has largely centred on policy, investment, institutional support, skills development, financing, and international collaboration. Individual practitioners may support political candidates—as they are entitled to—but the industry’s long-term development has remained a central focus.

This does not mean Nollywood is a perfect congregation. There have also been individuals within Nollywood who have pursued personal interests above the collective interest of the industry. However, when the two industries are compared, Nollywood has, on balance, positioned itself more effectively as a strategic partner in industry development, policy engagement, and institutional growth. Kannywood can do the same.

We must stop approaching politicians with a cap in hand every election season. An industry with this much talent, influence, and economic potential should not present itself as a sector waiting for handouts. It should present itself as a partner in development—one capable of creating jobs, generating revenue, attracting investment, promoting tourism, preserving culture, and contributing meaningfully to the economy of Northern Nigeria.

Politicians will respect Kannywood when Kannywood first respects its own value. This is not a criticism of anyone’s constitutional right to participate in politics or support a candidate. Rather, it is a call for Kannywood to recognise its collective economic power and organise itself as an industry worthy of sustained investment, strategic partnerships, and long-term development.

The question should no longer be, “Who is giving us what?” The question should be, “What policies, investments, and partnerships will transform Kannywood into one of Africa’s most competitive creative industries?”

The future of Kannywood will not be determined by what a handful of individuals receive during an election season. It will be determined by what the entire industry builds together for generations to come.

The choice before us is simple: we can continue chasing political patronage every four years, or we can build an industry that creates wealth, creates jobs, attracts investment, shapes culture, and becomes impossible for governments and the rest of the world to ignore.

Prince Daniel is “A Concerned Citizen” and a filmmaker. He can be reached via blackvillemedia@gmail.com.

By Zayyad I. Muhammad

What makes other countries continue to develop and achieve sustainable success is their ability to pursue collective and common goals across all socioeconomic sectors. When the people and their leaders share a clear national vision and work towards common objectives, the country naturally excels in development, whether in education, human capital, infrastructure, technology, innovation, or national pride.

Many countries are made up of people from different cultures, races, religions, and ethnic backgrounds. Yet, when it comes to national goals and objectives, they stand united as one nation, driven by a shared sense of purpose and commitment to progress. Their diversity becomes a source of strength rather than division because the national interest comes first.

One of Nigeria’s greatest challenges is the absence of strong national goals and objectives that are genuinely shared by all citizens. As a nation, we often struggle to build consensus around long-term priorities that transcend politics, ethnicity, religion, and regional interests.

Ironically, one of the few areas where Nigerians consistently demonstrate unity is sports, especially football. If Nigeria could cultivate the same level of collective commitment, patriotism, and shared purpose in education, human capital development, innovation, infrastructure, and economic growth as it does in football, the country would make remarkable progress and achieve far greater national development.

Another irony of Nigeria’s politics is that many leaders champion national unity while they occupy positions at the centre of government. They speak the language of inclusion, national cohesion, and collective progress because they represent the entire federation. However, the moment many of them leave office or slip out of public view, they often retreat into ethnic or regional politics, becoming champions of sectional interests rather than national ones. This inconsistency weakens nation-building, deepens divisions, and makes it difficult to sustain a truly national agenda.

Nigeria’s progress depends not only on good leadership but also on a shared national consciousness. The country needs leaders and followers who will remain committed to national unity and development regardless of whether they hold public office. Likewise, citizens must place the Nigerian project above ethnic, religious, and regional considerations. Only when our collective interest consistently outweighs our individual or sectional interests can Nigeria unlock its immense potential and achieve the level of sustainable development seen in many successful nations.

 Zayyad I. Muhammad writes from Abuja via zaymohd@yahoo.com.

By Abashi Rahab

I read the article titled “End ‘One-Way’ Driving on Lagos-Ibadan Expressway,” published on June 2, 2026, with mixed feelings. The article rightly draws attention to the growing menace of motorists driving against traffic on one of Nigeria’s busiest highways and to the tragic consequences that often follow. The reported death of a dispatch rider is a painful reminder of the dangers associated with this reckless and unlawful practice.

‎I fully agree that one-way driving poses a serious threat to public safety and should be condemned in the strongest terms. No destination is worth risking innocent lives, and all road users have a responsibility to obey traffic regulations designed to protect everyone.

‎However, while the article advocates stricter enforcement and tougher sanctions for offenders, the problem requires a broader and more sustainable response. The persistence of one-way driving despite existing laws suggests that punishment alone may not be enough to eliminate the practice.

‎One factor that deserves attention is the severe traffic congestion that frequently characterises the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway. Although traffic delays do not justify violating the law, they often contribute to the frustration that leads some motorists to make dangerous decisions. Addressing congestion through better road planning and traffic management should therefore form part of the solution.

‎There is also a need for improved road signage, clearer diversions, and better communication regarding alternative routes. Motorists are more likely to comply with traffic regulations when they are provided with safe and practical options.

‎Public awareness campaigns should equally be intensified. While most drivers know that one-way driving is an offence, many may not fully appreciate the devastating consequences it can have. Continuous sensitisation through traditional and digital media can help reinforce responsible driving habits and promote a culture of road safety.

‎Equally important is the consistent and impartial enforcement of traffic laws. Regulations must apply to all road users regardless of status or influence. When some individuals appear to evade sanctions, public confidence in the system is weakened and compliance declines.

‎Government agencies should also embrace modern traffic management technologies, including surveillance cameras, automated monitoring systems, and intelligent traffic control measures. These tools can improve enforcement, enhance traffic flow, and reduce opportunities for dangerous violations.

The article’s recommendation to install anti-one-way devices is commendable and warrants serious consideration. However, such measures should complement broader efforts to address the underlying causes of the problem rather than serve as a standalone solution.

‎Ultimately, ending one-way driving on the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway requires a combination of effective law enforcement, public education, improved infrastructure, better traffic management, and collective responsibility. While offenders must be held accountable, lasting success will depend on giving equal attention to prevention.

‎The loss of even one life due to a preventable traffic violation is one too many. Government agencies, security personnel, transport unions, and motorists must therefore work together to ensure that the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway becomes safer for all who use it.

‎Abashi Rahab is a Strategic Communication student at Yakubu Gowon University, Abuja, and an intern at IMPR. He wrote via ‎abashirahab@gmail.com.