Opinion

By Lawal Dahiru Mamman

Nigeria’s struggle with electricity is not just about flickering bulbs or darkened homes. It is about the survival of industries, the health of small businesses, and the very foundation of national development. 

A stable power supply is the bedrock of productivity, yet, after more than a century of electricity generation, the sector still reflects more chaos than progress. The story began modestly in 1896, when Lagos hosted Nigeria’s first power plant, which had a capacity of just 60 kilowatts. 

Over the next few decades, plants sprouted in Port Harcourt, Kaduna, Enugu, Maiduguri, Yola, Zaria, Warri, and Calabar. However, the system was fragmented—managed by native authorities and the Public Works Department—until 1950, when the Electricity Corporation of Nigeria (ECN) was established.

ECN soon became a national monopoly, consolidated further in 1972 when it merged with the Niger Dams Authority to form NEPA. For decades, “NEPA” became a household word, but mainly for the wrong reasons: inefficiency, chronic underinvestment, system losses, power theft, and blackouts that forced families and businesses to rely on expensive generators.

By 1999, fewer than 20 of Nigeria’s 79 power plants were functional. Barely 28% of installed capacity was delivered, leaving millions in perpetual darkness. These failures spurred reform efforts. 

The National Electric Power Policy (2001) and the Electric Power Sector Reform Act (2005) paved the way for privatisation, resulting in the establishment of 18 successor companies: 6 generation companies (GenCos), 11 distribution companies (DisCos), and 1 transmission company (TCN).

The promise was clear: privatise, attract investors, boost efficiency, and deliver reliable power. By November 2013, the federal government sold its stakes in the GenCos and DisCos, earning $2.5 billion in proceeds. 

Companies like Transcorp Power, Geregu, Ughelli, Shiroro, Sapele, and Kainji took control of generation, while 11 Distribution Companies (DisCos) took charge of retail distribution. But the dream quickly soured. A decade later, efficiency gains remain elusive. 

Generation hovers below 5,000MW for a nation of over 200 million. Blackouts are frequent, tariffs are contested, infrastructure remains weak, and both Generation and Distribution Companies (GenCos and DisCos) are drowning in debt.

The situation worsened in 2025 when GenCos raised alarm over a staggering N4 trillion owed to them by the federal government—N1.9 trillion in legacy debts and N2 trillion for power supplied in 2024 alone. 

President Bola Tinubu admitted government liability, but insisted only verifiable claims would be honoured. By August, Finance Minister Wale Edun confirmed plans to clear the debts, signalling tacit acknowledgement.

This mountain of debt builds upon years of heavy subsidies and bailouts, with government interventions since 2023 alone estimated to be above N7 trillion. These include tariff adjustments through the Multi-Year Tariff Order (MYTO), direct subsidies, bailout funds, and payment guarantees. 

Yet, paradoxically, Nigeria continues to subsidise a sector that was supposed to thrive under private ownership. The Electricity Act 2023 pushed for cost-reflective tariffs, expanded metering, and transmission upgrades. 

But the larger question looms: has Nigeria’s privatisation model failed? Or has the government’s constant interference, through subsidies and political tariff control, undermined the very logic of privatisation?

As the GenCos demand arrears, the DisCos complain of low remittances, and consumers grumble under rising tariffs and unreliable supply, Nigeria must confront a harsh reality: electricity is not just an economic issue, but a governance test.

If the sector is to function effectively, the government must draw a clear line—provide enabling policies, enforce regulations, but step back from perpetual bailouts. The time has come to interrogate privatisation, recalibrate the framework, and design a power sector that delivers light, not debt. 

For without power, the dream of industrial Nigeria remains trapped in darkness.

Lawal Dahiru Mamman writes from Abuja. He can be reached at: dahirulawal90@gmail.com.

By Ibraheem A. Waziri

Artificial Intelligence has arrived, and in many ways, it is already surpassing humankind in numerous tasks – frominformation retrieval and decision-making to writing essays, diagnosing illnesses, and simulating human conversations. 

The rapid advancement of AI over the past decade is no longer a marvel; it is a living reality. With its relentless progress, we are standing on the cusp of a new era, an age in which the human mind and artificial intelligence may become intimately intertwined, both physically and cognitively. 

Over the next ten to twenty years, we can expect to witness the rise of brain-chip implants, neural devices capable of recording thoughts and memories, and integrating them with external data in real-time. This development, already underway in advanced laboratories, will redefine the limits of human cognition. Learning may no longer require years of study. Instead, information could be uploaded directly into the brain, rendering traditional education models obsolete or significantly transformed. 

The barriers to knowledge acquisition—once dependent on time, resources, and access—would essentially vanish. Everyone might stand on equal ground when it comes to information. In this sense, AI could appear to be the long-awaited solution to humanity’s historic struggle with ignorance. A world where information is no longer hoarded but instantly shared would mark a fundamental shift in human civilisation. 

Yet, in this possible future, one thing remains uniquely human: our conscience. The power of choice, the intention behind our actions, and the moral compass guiding our decisions stay beyond the reach of AI. The Islamic prophetic saying “Innamal a’malu binniyat”- “intentions judge actions” -takes on renewed weight. When knowledge becomes universally accessible, what will distinguish one person from another is no longer what they know, but how and why they use it. 

AI may provide the tools, but only our conscience can determine their application. In this new world, the essence of being human —the power to choose, to discern, and to act with purpose —becomes our most valuable trait. 

In writing and speech, large language models (LLMs) have dramatically reduced the burden of expression. AI tools can correct grammar, enhance clarity, and structure arguments. In this way, AI handles the “form,” allowing humans to focus more on “substance”: the meaning, purpose, and ethical significance of their message. 

Yet the human mind’s natural tendency to ask questions, to imagine, and to critique will not diminish. If anything, it will deepen. Humans are not passive recipients of knowledge; we are also its interpreters, critics, and re-creators. Far from becoming complacent in the presence of AI, people will begin to question it, reshape it, and rise above it. 

The reason is simple: the human mind cannot stagnate. It searches for meaning and thrives in ambiguity. Our ability to reflect, imagine, and dwell on abstract ideas remains unmatched. AI can mimic patterns and predict outcomes, but it cannot experience wonder, nor can it feel regret, nor grapple with moral ambiguity. 

Creativity itself arises from three essential human components: conscience, emotions, and environment. AI may support this triad; it may even challenge or stimulate it, but it cannot generate it. AI is a product of creativity, not its source. And it cannot be the source of what it did not create. 

By automating routine tasks, AI liberates the human mind to think more deeply and act more boldly. It frees us from mechanical repetition, allowing for higher-order thinking, innovation, and artistry. Writers, thinkers, inventors, and designers now have more time for exploration and imagination, which remain the core of human advancement. 

This evolving relationship mirrors humanity’s relationship with the Divine. Just as no human can rival the wisdom or creative force of God, AI can never match the core of our humanity. It cannot outfeel us. It cannot outdo us. It cannot outvalue us. It cannot possess conscience, consciousness, or emotion; the divine triad that defines who we are. 

When AI becomes fully integrated into daily life, at work, in education, healthcare, governance, and homes, we won’t become less human. In fact, we will become more human. We will have to let go of much of the mechanical and embrace the reflective. We will have more space to think, more time to connect, and more clarity to imagine. 

And in this space, we may at last pursue what has always eluded us, even in our most extraordinary scientific and industrial feats: wisdom. While AI may provide us with access to vast amounts of information, only the human soul, guided by conscience, can discern what is just, what is meaningful, and what is beautiful. 

AI does not represent the end of humanity. It is the beginning of a new chapter, one filled with tools of immense potential. But as with all tools, their value depends on the hands that use them. In the age of AI, the accurate measure of a person will no longer be what they know, but why they act and how they choose to use what they have. 

AI may become the great equaliser of knowledge, but it is only the human conscience that can give that knowledge direction, purpose, and value. And that is a gift no machine can replicate.

By Haroon Aremu Abiodun

“Any country where lawmaking is more lucrative than law enforcement, there must be insecurity.”

That was the piercing submission of veteran Nollywood actor Kanayo O. Kanayo in a podcast interview. This quote still lingers in my mind like a haunting prophecy. Sadly, Nigeria appears to be a textbook example of that paradox.

This raises a chilling question: can we ever be safe in a nation where those crafting the laws live like kings, while those enforcing them die like pawns?

The roads tremble with fear, and villages sleep with one eye open. From Abuja to Zamfara, from the creeks of the Delta to Anambra, to the rocky hills of Birnin Gwari, the word “insecurity” has become a national refrain. 

In whispered conversations and on trending hashtags, Nigerians continue to ask: Can banditry, kidnapping, and terrorism ever truly end in Nigeria?

While President Bola Ahmed Tinubu continues to pledge security reforms, and National Security Adviser Nuhu Ribadu issues strategic statements, the reality on the ground often contradicts this. The Chief of Defence Staff, General Christopher Musa, may be leading an army of patriots. Still, their valour is constantly undermined by systemic inequality, in which the pen is paid more than the gun.

I Witnessed the Truth

In early June, I attended a deeply insightful citizenship engagement forum hosted by Voice of Nigeria (VON). Dignitaries, including the Minister of Information, NSA Ribadu, the Chief of Defence Staff, and other notable figures,were present. But one story shared by the Chief of Defence Staff froze the air.

He recalled a young bandit who surrendered. The military, adopting a “soft approach,” chose not to brutalise him but instead treated him humanely. He was given food, a warm bath, and, for the first time in his life, a mattress.

This wasn’t just about physical comfort. It was symbolic. The boy, barely old enough to vote, said he had never lain on a mattress before. That was his first taste of civilisation, and it came not from a school or community, but from an army barracks. The boy had joined a group of killers not out of hatred, but out of hopelessness.

The Root of the Rot: 3Es

With what the Chief of Defence Staff said, I was able to conclude that part of the root of Nigeria’s security crisis lies in the absence of the “3Es”: Education, Exposure, and Enlightenment. These are not luxuries; they are necessities. And in the North, where banditry has gained a more frightening foothold, their absence is glaring.

It is time for Northern governors to rise beyond rhetoric. The federal government cannot win this war alone. State leaders must begin by reforming their education systems, investing in enlightenment campaigns, and introducing programs that truly expose their youth to life beyond the confines of their communities. Kano State has led the way in propagating and championing this initiative among the northern states, but efforts should be intensified.

Can we save Nigeria? Yes, but not with a centralised, top-down approach. What we need is collaborative security. Community policing must be revived with village chiefs and family heads forming the first line of surveillance.

Security consciousness must be made more crucial and integrated into school curricula and public messaging. Employment generation must become more than a campaign slogan. A graduate left idle is one WhatsApp message away from recruitment into darkness.

“If community policing is fully implemented, it will become far easier to identify and expose those secretly sponsoring or benefiting from terrorism right from the grassroots. Local vigilance, trust networks, and community-driven intelligence can expose hidden collaborators who often conceal their activities behind political or economic influence. Such a system not only strengthens national security but also empowers citizens to take active ownership of their safety and future.”

This is to say, the fight against terror will not be won by guns alone, but by communities standing as the first line of defence

The Role of Institutions

The Ministry of Education and the National Orientation Agency (NOA) must now take centre stage. It is no longer enough to teach arithmetic and grammar; we must now teach security literacy. The young must understand the real consequences of crime. They must be exposed to alternatives.

This encompasses school tours, street theatre, online campaigns, community mentorship, and genuine partnerships between public and private stakeholders.

There is hope. There are patriots in uniform. There are children yet untouched by corruption. There are teachers still driven by conscience. However, all their efforts will be for nothing if lawmakers continue to earn more than those who risk their lives.

The EFCC may chase funds across Iceland and Dubai. The DSS may foil plots in Lagos and Maiduguri. However, until we address the imbalance and make justice more rewarding than crime, we will remain trapped in this cycle.

Let us not wait until another child lies on a mattress in a military cell to realise what he has never had.

Let that mattress be our wake-up call.

So, to President Tinubu, to the NSA Ribadu, to the Defence Chief, and to every governor who still believes in this country: The war will not be won on the battlefield alone; it will be won in the classroom, in the family compound, in the village square, and in the heart of every Nigerian.

Before we talk about weapons, let’s talk about mattresses.

Haroon Aremu Abiodun, An Author, public Affairs Analyst, PRNigeria fellow and wrote in via exponentumera@gmail.com.

By Nasiru Ibrahim 

Nigeria’s debt situation has become more confusing and concerning in recent years. After removing fuel subsidies, which had always been used to justify heavy borrowing, many expected a change in direction. But surprisingly, debt has continued to rise—and sharply. 

In less than two years, Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s administration has added over ₦62 trillion to our total debt. This comes on top of Muhammadu Buhari’s already heavy debt legacy. Yet if you check the 2025 budget, it still carries a huge deficit. This is despite relatively stable oil prices and a slight improvement in crude oil production. So, something is clearly not adding up.

How can a country that has removed one of its biggest expenditures—fuel subsidies—still be borrowing more than ever? Is it that the revenue reforms aren’t working, or is this a deeper issue with how we manage our economy? These are real questions that need honest answers. The reality is that Nigeria’s current borrowing trend is worrying not just because of the amount, but also because of the manner in which it’s happening and what it reflects.

According to the Debt Management Office, as of March 31, 2025, Nigeria’s public debt stood at ₦149.39 trillion. Tinubu alone has added ₦62.01 trillion to that figure in under two years. Now, let’s compare that with previous administrations: Goodluck Jonathan borrowed ₦5.9 trillion in five years. Buhari borrowed ₦74.78 trillion in eight years—including the controversial “Ways and Means” borrowing from the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN). That’s how bad things have gotten.

“Ways and Means” are short-term loans from the Central Bank to the Federal Government, intended to cover urgent expenses such as paying salaries or addressing unexpected shortfalls. Think of it like an overdraft facility. But the law is clear—the CBN Act, 2007 (Section 38) states that the Federal Government can only borrow up to 5% of the previous year’s revenue from the CBN, and it must be repaid in the same year. Under Buhari, this law was ignored. His government borrowed ₦22.7 trillion through Ways and Means, without obtaining proper approval from the National Assembly.

This ₦22.7 trillion had not been reflected in official debt figures for a long time. It only became part of Nigeria’s domestic debt record in May 2023, when Buhari’s government securitised it—basically converted it into long-term bonds. That move alone caused the total public debt to jump from ₦44.06 trillion at the end of 2022 to ₦87.38 trillion by June 2023. That’s a massive increase in just six months.

Now, some economists argue that Tinubu’s debt figures appear worse primarily due to the exchange rate. That argument is simple: Nigeria borrows in foreign currencies, such as the dollar, euro, or yuan, but records the debt in naira. So when the naira weakens, the same dollar loan becomes much bigger in naira terms.

Let’s look at the exchange rate across administrations. Under Jonathan, the exchange rate was around ₦ 157 to $1 in 2015. Under Buhari, the exchange rate was ₦770/$ in 2023. And under Tinubu, the exchange rate is now approximately ₦1536/$ as of 2025. So when you convert the same external loan, the naira value explodes as the currency weakens. Just this exchange rate movement has added ₦29.75 trillion to Tinubu’s external debt and ₦5.9 trillion to Buhari’s.

To properly check if the debt spike is mainly due to FX changes, let’s fix the exchange rate at ₦157/$ for all the administrations and see how much was actually borrowed. The formula is simple:

Old Dollar Debt × New Exchange Rate – Old Dollar Debt × Old Exchange Rate.

Using the DMO’s external debt figure of $38.81 billion in 2023:
$38.81bn × ₦770 = ₦29.85 trillion
$38.81bn × ₦1536 = ₦59.63 trillion
₦59.63 trillion – ₦29.85 trillion = ₦29.78 trillion

So, if the exchange rate had remained at ₦157/$, Nigeria’s external debt of $42.46 billion in 2025 would have been approximately ₦6.6 trillion. Under that fixed exchange rate, Jonathan’s total external borrowing would have been approximately ₦1.07 trillion over five years. Buhari’s about ₦4.48 trillion in eight years.

Tinubu’s about ₦1.12 trillion in under two years. This means if Tinubu continues at this pace, he’ll hit Buhari’s figure—₦4.48 trillion—in about eight years. Yes, the exchange rate plays a significant role. But that’s not the whole story.

Others argue that Tinubu’s debt problem is not just about FX. It’s also about spending discipline. Unlike Buhari, Tinubu removed fuel subsidies and slightly increased oil production (1.5–1.6 million barrels per day, compared to Buhari’s average of 1.2–1.3 million barrels), and customs and tax revenue also improved. Buhari faced more challenging conditions—global oil crashes, two recessions in 2016 and 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic, and high subsidy payments—during his early years. So, Tinubu had more room to save, but instead, borrowing has increased.

The 2025 budget projects a deficit of ₦13.08 trillion. It assumes oil at $77.96 per barrel and production of 2.06 million barrels per day. However, in reality, March production was only 1.65 million barrels per day, including condensates. And as of July 8, Brent crude was $70.20 and WTI was $68.42—both below the assumed price. That means revenue projections may fall short, and the government will likely borrow even more.

Tinubu has already requested $21.6 billion in new loans. In May 2025, Reuters reported that he also asked the National Assembly to approve loans of €2.2 billion, ¥15 billion (approximately $104 million), and an additional $2 billion in domestic loans. That’s not all.

The Federal Government also secured a $747 million syndicated external loan to fund Phase 1, Section 1 of the Lagos-Calabar Coastal Highway—from Victoria Island to Eleko Village. At ₦1536/$, this loan adds ₦1.147 trillion to the debt. The lenders include Deutsche Bank, First Abu Dhabi Bank, Afreximbank, and Zenith Bank, among others. The Islamic Corporation for the Insurance of Investment and Export Credit (ICIEC) is providing insurance. That brings Tinubu’s total borrowing to about ₦63.157 trillion in under two years.

This highway is being built under a Public-Private Partnership using an EPC+F model. The road is over 70% complete and is designed using CRCP technology—concrete with a 50-year lifespan and low maintenance requirements. While the loan adds to debt, it shows some confidence from global investors and introduces a financing model that shares risk between the government and private firms.

Now to the bigger picture. As of 2024, Nigeria’s debt-to-GDP ratio is around 25.1%, based on ₦144.67 trillion in debt and a nominal GDP of about $375 billion. That means debt accounts for about one-quarter of the economy—not yet alarming, but becoming risky if borrowing continues at this rate. What’s more worrying is the cost of servicing debt.

In 2024, debt service took up 4.1% of GDP—up from 3.7% in 2023 (AfDB report). That’s a lot. Imagine 4.1% of the entire economy going towards just paying off debt, instead of building schools, roads, or hospitals. Even worse, the debt service-to-revenue ratio rose from 76.86% in 2023 to 77.4% in 2024 (APA News). This means more than three-quarters of government revenue is now used to repay debt. That leaves very little for anything else. That’s not sustainable.

As Economics graduates, the way forward is clear. First, we need to depoliticise how we manage public finances. Countries like Chile, Sweden, and the UK have independent Fiscal Councils that enforce rules like debt limits and balanced budgets. Nigeria needs something like that to restore discipline and rebuild investor trust.

Second, loans must be tied to development goals—not used for consumption. Borrowing should be used for essential services like roads, electricity, and digital infrastructure, rather than paying salaries or covering bloated administrative costs. Rwanda and Ethiopia have shown how debt used for infrastructure can boost exports and growth. A cost-benefit analysis should accompany every loan.

Third, we must cut waste and off-budget liabilities. That includes fuel subsidies, failing state-owned enterprises, and unauthorised bailouts. Ghana passed a Fiscal Responsibility Act in 2018, capped its deficit at 5% of GDP, and ran audits that exposed massive leakages. Nigeria can cut borrowing by 30–40% just by following that path.

Fourth, improve tax collection—not by harassing small traders, but through fairness and the use of technology. Indonesia raised its tax-to-GDP ratio by digitising filing, automating risk detection, and linking tax IDs with national identity numbers. Nigeria can do the same—target high earners and multinationals instead of informal workers.

Fifth, public-private partnerships and syndicated loans, such as the Lagos-Calabar road, shouldn’t be used to conceal debt. They should help us attract private capital, share risks, and deliver real development. Countries like Morocco and Kenya make their PPP contracts public. Nigeria should also strive for greater transparency.

Finally, if things get out of hand, we can consider debt restructuring—but only as a last resort and if tied to fundamental reforms. Ghana restructured its debt in 2023 by extending maturities and cutting interest under IMF guidance. But what made it work was reform—cutting subsidies and improving tax systems. Without reform, restructuring solves nothing.

This is the time for Nigeria to act. If we continue on this path, we are only postponing a more profound crisis. But with the right decisions, we can still change direction.

Ibrahim is a graduate of Economics from Bayero University, Kano. He can be reached via nasirfirji4@gmail.com.

By Isyaka Laminu Badamasi 

A few months ago, I wrote about the popular one-way routes in Bauchi metropolis, where I drew the attention of the relevant authorities to the need to address the unethical behaviours of some motorists and other road users who openly violate traffic regulations on our major roads and streets in the metropolis. To my dismay, the situation is worsening by the day. 

On my way to and from the office every day, I usually encounter frightening experiences at this junction, which has become a theatre for traffic violators, accidents, and altercations. People openly, without considering their safety or that of other road users, cross the road, either through a U-turn or a median. This is not peculiar to Keke Napep and Achaba riders, but also applies to cars, lorries, and trucks.

For months, I never witnessed the traffic warders or staff of the Bauchi Road Traffic Agency (BAROTA) working to avert the routine occurrences of road accidents at the junction. I’m not sure if this is another ‘new normal’ in our way of doing things. 

An Achaba rider once informed me that all these were a result of the ongoing flyover construction at the central market roundabout. He added that, “as soon as the project is completed, the traffic violation will be history”. Others believe that a roundabout should be constructed at the junction, as it is for the Bakaro-Shagari and Karofi junctions behind the Bauchi correctional facility. I’m not sure if this is possible.

Whatever the solution may be, I am appealing to the BAROTA, as a matter of public interest, to deploy a special team at the junction for 24-hour surveillance to ensure the safety of people’s lives and properties. Officers of the agency were always seen at the newly constructed Muda Lawal market road and/or under the Wunti flyover, arresting those who parked their vehicles incorrectly and Achaba riders; why is this junction neglected?

Recently, the Chairman, House Committee of Roads and Transport of the Bauchi State House of Assembly, Hon Engr. Garba Adamu engaged officials of the agency to discuss some important issues. I’m not sure if this particular case is part of their discussion.

The media houses should also embark on rigorous sensitisation, thanks to Albarka Radio for taking the lead in this regard. Religious and traditional institutions, as well as youth groups, should also utilise their respective domains in preaching good morals, which include abiding by traffic rules and regulations. All the other places I mentioned in my earlier write-up are still dangerous. The Tashan Babiye and Bayam Bata communities should form a volunteer team to address this lingering issue.

The picture is from the internet.

Isyaka Laminu Badamasi is the Team Lead, Initiatives for Sustainable Development (I4SD).

By Oladoja M.O

“A dive into the political paralysis killing public health”

In the long and winding corridors of Nigeria’s national challenges, the health sector stands as one of the most visibly bruised, chronically neglected, and systemically under-prioritised. Yet, beyond the crumbling hospitals and overworked health workers lies a more insidious diagnosis: politics. Not politics in its ideal form, the noble art of governance, but the brand that manifests in distraction, dereliction, and dead ends. It is this politicisation, or rather, the wrong kind of political influence, that has become the biggest ailment afflicting Nigeria’s health system today. And until it is addressed, no number of policies, international partnerships, or ministerial press briefings will revive the sector to its full potential.

Let’s begin with a case study, a hopeful one that has slowly started to mirror the very problem it tried to solve.

When Dr. Muhammad Ali Pate was appointed Nigeria’s Coordinating Minister of Health and Social Welfare in August 2023, many saw a breath of fresh air. He came armed with credentials, experience, and, perhaps most importantly, energy. Within months, the sector began to stir with renewed ambition.

Under his leadership, Nigeria launched its first Health Sector Renewal Investment Initiative, signed a landmark Sector-Wide Approach (SWAp) compact with states and partners, and injected ₦50 billion into the Basic Healthcare Provision Fund (BHCPF), which was double the amount released in the previous year. Over 2,400 health workers were recruited and deployed across underserved areas. Primary healthcare facilities that had long been mere consulting rooms began to see improvements in personnel and reach. Vaccination efforts soared. 

A nationwide HPV rollout vaccinated nearly 5 million girls, and the long-awaited Oxford R21 malaria vaccine arrived on Nigerian soil. The government pursued a policy to unlock the healthcare value chain, drafting executive orders to encourage local pharmaceutical manufacturing and reduce import dependency. Even the National Health Insurance Authority (NHIA) was repositioned, expanding coverage through the Vulnerable Group Fund, while a national patient safety strategy was launched to bring quality and accountability into focus. All signs pointed to a government that was, finally, taking health seriously. But then, as quickly as the fire had been lit, it began to dim.

But from early 2025, a silence began to creep over the very desk that once signed reforms with urgency. Policy announcements grew fewer. Major rollouts dried up. The energy that had defined Pate’s first year slowly receded into a void of political undertones. And then came the whispers, and then confirmations of a new ambition: governorship in Bauchi State. Pate, by his own words in March 2025, declared himself “ready to serve” in his home state come 2027. From that moment on, what had been a robust health sector agenda began to take a back seat to the shifting winds of political alignment.

The problem isn’t ambition. It’s a distraction. A Coordinating Minister of Health in a country where maternal mortality is one of the highest in the world, where millions still pay out-of-pocket for even the most basic care, and where health infrastructure is crumbling under the weight of neglect, simply cannot afford to be half-present. This is the heart of the issue: politics has become both the gatekeeper and the grave-digger of Nigeria’s health potential.

For decades, well-meaning reforms have died at the altar of “lack of political will.” Budgets are approved, but rarely fully released. Policies are launched, but implementation fizzles out under new administrations. Health is often treated as a social service, rather than a critical pillar of economic development. Politicians are quicker to commission a white elephant hospital in a state capital than to strengthen the rural primary health centres where lives are quietly and daily lost.

And when leadership does finally begin to show some will, as Pate briefly did, the ever-thirsty machinery of Nigerian politics lures it away. This, perhaps, is the cruellest irony: politics that should drive public health, instead devours it.

The Nigerian public, meanwhile, remains largely unaware of how deeply entangled their health is with political decisions. Health issues are often viewed as isolated, with a bad hospital here and an unavailable drug there, rather than as symptoms of a larger systemic failure driven by poor governance, poor prioritisation, and a lack of sustained leadership.

We cannot continue to treat the health sector as an afterthought or a public relations prop. Health is not a photo opportunity. It is not a campaign gift or a once-in-a-quarter press release. It is a right, and more than that, it is the foundation for national development. No country has risen out of poverty, no economy has truly grown, without first investing heavily in the health of its people.

So, here’s the truth we must face: until Nigerian politics stops viewing health as just another item on a manifesto’s checklist and starts seeing it as a cornerstone of national survival, we will continue to spin our wheels. Ministers will come and go. Budgets will be announced and unspent. And the average Nigerian will continue to suffer preventable deaths, unaffordable care, and unattended illness.

The solution lies not only in leadership, but also in the voice of citizens, civil society, professionals, the media, and everyday people, who demand more than shallow commitments. We must demand that health be taken seriously, institutionally. That it be enshrined not just in words but in political action, protected from the cycles of campaign season, ego projects, and elective distractions. In this moment, we are witnessing a perfect case study of how even a promising leader can be lost to the lure of political pursuits. 

If Dr. Ali Pate, arguably one of Nigeria’s most qualified health minds, could be drawn away from a national assignment to a regional ambition, it speaks volumes about the fragility of reform when politics remains unchecked.

This article, then, is not just a critique. It is a call to consciousness. A call for the government to return to the trenches of national responsibility. A call for health to be declared not just a service, but a strategic national priority. A call for the public to realise that the decaying hospital they see is not just a facility issue, but a political problem. And it demands a political solution.

Let us stop treating the symptoms. Let us diagnose the root. And let us finally begin to treat politics as the virus silently killing Nigeria’s health system.

Oladoja M.O writes from Abuja and can be reached at mayokunmark@gmail.com.

By Ukasha  Kofarnassarawa 

Basic education in public schools in Kano State is approaching its graveyard, where it will be laid to rest sooner than expected. This is why a larger portion of the population manages to enrol their children in private schools. Only those who are economically gasping for breath can barely afford to send their kids to the rotten public school system. 

It has reached a stage where teachers and principals of public schools also send their children to private schools. Just as medical doctors who own private hospitals, many academics who earn a salary from the Ministry of Education also own private schools. The recent whistleblowing, led by Dan Bello, to expose the dysfunction of our public schools, is not surprising to those who have invested heavily in the state of our public schools. 

However, Dan Bello is only addressing one aspect of the problem, which is infrastructural decay. There are many other problems, including incompetent teachers, a lack of proper supervision, and the anti-intellectual behaviour of teachers who attend school at their convenience. You will hear a school teacher who is supposed to be in school from 7:30 am to 2 pm every working day say that he only comes to school twice a week. 

Whatever Dan Bello’s intention is in exposing the situation, I believe it’s for the betterment of the state, especially since the governor has started responding to the problem. 

We acknowledge how the previous administration abandoned public schools, sold their land to develop houses and build corner shops, and shut down many. However, this is not the time for blame games; it’s time to revive the state of our education. And that’s one of the reasons why the state indigenes voted them out and gave this administration the chance to govern.

As I extracted this from the Facebook page of the Director-General of the Kano Bureau of Statistics, he wrote: “The attached chart presents estimated statistics on the total number of public primary and secondary schools in Kano, excluding new ones currently under construction. There are approximately 9,136 public primary and secondary schools across the state. 

Based on assessments, if 70 per cent of these schools are dilapidated and require renovation, that would mean about 6,395 schools need repair. At a rate of 100 schools renovated per month, it would take approximately 64 months, or 5 years and 4 months, to fully address the problem. So, it is unrealistic to expect that all dilapidated schools can be fixed within such a short timeframe of two years.”

This chilled my blood and set me thinking about the quickest and most realistic way to revive our education. I arrived at the following conclusions:

Since it will take us approximately 5 years to address the infrastructural decay alone, how many years would it take us to address the human capital problem? To improve the situation, I propose the following:

1. The government should establish six mega schools (3 secondary schools and three primary schools) that are fully equipped. This can be developed within a one-year calendar (the NWU senate building was built in less than a year, so it’s feasible). Each school should accommodate at least 1,000 students and make it the standard, as Day Science, Dawakin Tofa, and Dawakin Kudu used to be. These schools have produced some of the best medical doctors, engineers, and teachers, who have made us proud, even on the international stage.

2. Employ well-trained teachers and develop a system that can measure their performance. Why do public school teachers who earn at least ₦70,000 (considering the minimum wage) fail to teach their students effectively, while those in private schools who earn ₦30,000 or less perform far better? It’s a supervisory issue. In private schools, teachers are monitored and appraised. Let’s inculcate this culture in the newly established schools.

3. There’s no such thing as free education in those schools! Let parents/guardians pay. At least the school can earn an income for maintenance. 

If this idea is fully implemented, by 2031, when we expect to have addressed the infrastructural decay as stated above, the state would have produced at least 5,000 high-quality graduates who can compete with their private counterparts.

By Hanniel Sebatie Noboh

On the morning of July 30, Vanguard newspaper published an editorial titled “30% Processing of Export Raw Materials”, offering its perspective on the recently passed Senate bill mandating that all raw materials exported from Nigeria must be processed locally by at least 30 per cent. This long-overdue legislation is a welcome development in Nigeria’s quest for economic diversification.

Nigeria remains one of the most naturally endowed nations in the world. With abundant resources such as limestone, gold, natural gas, and the globally coveted crude oil, our country boasts mineral wealth that many developed nations lack. In agriculture too, from rice and groundnuts in the North to cassava and palm oil in the South, Nigeria’s fertile soil continues to bless us with variety and abundance.

Yet, successive governments have, for decades, focused disproportionately on crude oil, neglecting other sectors, such as agriculture and manufacturing. As the Vanguard editorial rightly observed, even during economic downturns—when necessity should inspire reform—there has been little effort to diversify our export base.

This is why the passage of this bill marks a significant shift. By requiring at least 30 per cent local processing of all export-bound raw materials, Nigeria takes a substantial step towards value addition and economic transformation.

The advantages are manifold. First, processed goods typically command higher prices in global markets. Take cocoa, for instance—a ton of raw beans sells for far less than the same quantity processed into cocoa butter. This principle applies to most commodities: the more value added, the greater the earnings.

Second, enforcing the 30 per cent processing threshold will spur the development of local industries. More processing facilities will mean more jobs, improved infrastructure, and Nigeria’s transition from an exporter of raw materials to a player in the global manufacturing and semi-processed goods market. Even for domestic buyers, the availability of semi-processed inputs will reduce dependency on fully imported goods, lowering costs and supporting local production.

Additionally, the bill aligns with President Bola Tinubu’s vision of making agriculture more attractive to Nigerian youth. Many young people may not be drawn to traditional farming, but with the emergence of new processing plants, opportunities will abound in machine operations, logistics, quality control, and related fields.

However, as Vanguard also warned, the real challenge lies in implementation. Nigeria has no shortage of well-intentioned policies, but history shows that many fail at the execution stage. A lack of infrastructure, regulatory oversight, and transparency could undermine the promise of this bill. The risk of corruption—particularly in granting exemptions or failing to enforce compliance—must be proactively addressed.

The responsibility for enforcement rests with the Raw Materials Research and Development Council (RMRDC), which must ensure compliance with the 30 per cent benchmark and uphold quality standards. Any exporter who fails to meet the requirement will face a 15% surcharge on the export value of their raw materials. This is a strong disincentive, but only if enforced fairly and transparently.

In conclusion, while the bill is commendable, its success depends on rigorous implementation, strong political will, and effective institutional accountability. If executed effectively, it could be a game-changer for Nigeria’s economy. Like many Nigerians, I remain hopeful that this won’t become another forgotten policy but the beginning of a new era of industrial growth and self-reliance.

Hanniel Sebatie Noboh is a Mass Communication student at Nile University and an intern at PRNigeria. She can be reached via nobohhanniel@gmail.com.

Dr. Muhammad Sulaiman Abdullahi

Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un. May Allah have mercy on Professor Hafizu Miko Yakasai. He was such a wonderful man that he never held any grudges against anyone. 

I met Prof. Hafizu as far back as 2003/2004, and by 2007/2008, he had supervised my B.A. project on Hausa translation. While writing the project, Malam pushed me so hard that it later transformed my life for the better.

Malam was hardworking, friendly, calm and always gentle. You can even say that Malam was the nicest of them all. Malam was always smiling, and he spoke to us as if he were talking to his friends or even his bosses. Malam always looked down when he spoke to you. So kind and loving. We will genuinely miss his charming smile, especially when he wants to make a point or respond to an interesting topic.

To have known Malam was to have known a rare and gentle light in this world. The always smiling gentleman. Today, that light feels dimmed, the smiles have left us, and our hearts are heavy with a grief that words can scarcely hold. Yet, even in this time of mourning, we are compelled to celebrate the extraordinary person he was —a teacher, a mentor, and one of the kindest souls to have graced our lives at Bayero University, Kano.

Prof. Hafizu was a teacher in the truest sense of the word. His classrooms were not just a place of learning, but a sanctuary of encouragement and support. He didn’t just teach Semantics; he taught us how to think, how to wonder and how to believe in ourselves even when we doubted our own capabilities.

The professor saw potential in the quietest student and brilliance in the most struggling mind. His greatest lessons were not found only in the textbooks, but in his unwavering patience, smiles and profound belief that every one of us had something unique and valuable to offer the world.

When Malam became the President of Nigeria’s Institute of Translators and Interpreters, he called me and asked me to participate in a high-level process of evaluating new intakes. I felt as if Malam was elevating me to a position for which I wasn’t qualified, but Malam sat by my side while I put the records in order and smoothed out the process, and together, we made it a success.

Wallahi Malam was a very great gentleman to the core. A peace-loving fellow. A man of charisma and calibre. I never saw him become angry. Perhaps he has a unique way of swallowing all the anger and reveals only soothing smiles.

There was a time when Malam invited us to a project that he had obtained from his good friend, Barrister Dasin. It was a project of translation. We really enjoyed ourselves and have our pockets filled up.

One day, we sat at the Centre for Research in Nigerian Languages, Translation & Folklore. All of a sudden, Malam asked Muhammad, ‘How can we translate…’ He then mentioned a particular word. I was amazed that this was my teacher, who had taught me for years, now asking me for something. This is to show you how simple and easy-going Malam was.

Besides teaching us, Malam took us as his own children, always drawing us nearer. He never acted like a boss; he was a guide who walked beside us, and with us, not ahead of us. He offered counsel without judgment, wisdom without arrogance, and a listening ear that made even our most minor problems feel important. He shaped not only our intellect but our character, leading always by the quiet example of his own integrity, compassion, and grace.

And yet, what we will carry with us most indelibly, what is etched into our memory with the warmth of a permanent sun, is his utmost kindness and smile. That ever-present, genuine, and kind smile. It was a beacon of welcome in the morning, a signal of understanding during a difficult lesson, and a silent celebration of our successes. In a world that can often be too serious and too harsh, his smiles were a constant reminder that joy is a choice, and kindness is a language everyone understands. It was the purest reflection of his beautiful spirit.

Thank you for everything. Your syllabus for a life well-lived is complete, and you earned an A+ in humanity, wisdom, dedication and kindness. We will miss you more than words can say, but we will never forget your lessons and your magnificent smiles.

Malam was an HOD many years ago; he was a Dean, a Professor, and a pioneer Provost of the College of Arts, and he died in active service. He came and worked in the university even in the last days of his life. Above all, he was a very kind gentleman, a devout servant of Allah.

The best part of Malam’s life was that not many people knew he was an A-grade student and teacher of the Qur’an. Coincidentally, the last events he attended in his academic life were on the glorious Qur’an. The Centre organised the last for Qur’anic Studies under the leadership of Sheikh Prof. Ahmad Murtala. May the almighty Allah raise you among the Qur’anic reciters on the Day of Judgement, amen.

Prof. Hafizu has done his part and left. It is now time to reflect on his life and build on the good legacies he left. I extend my condolences to his family, friends, students, Bayero University, Kano, and the entire academic community.

May Allah forgive your shortcomings, Malam. May Allah make Jannatul Firdaus your final home. You have done wonderfully, Malam, with endless gratitude and love. Insha’Allah, you will continue to smile in Jannah, sir. Ameen!

By Lawal Dahiru Mamman

There are times when the stars seem to be aligning. All trouble appears to be disappearing, awaiting only what happens when those stars fall into line. But then, unexpectedly, things take a different turn, and the trouble assumes a different shape, sometimes with an additional burden. Such is the irony of Nigeria.

Governance was generally out of reach for the common man, especially those at the grassroots level who lacked the basic necessities required to live a decent life. To address this, there has been a clamour for local government autonomy. Successive governments have attempted to do so, but it was only the current administration that secured this victory in July 2024.

Since then, bureaucracies and political “manoeuvring have clogged up full implementation. Enforcement faced a delay in August when the federal and state governments negotiated a three-month moratorium, due to concerns about council workers’ salary payments and the need to conduct LG elections in certain states, alongside other pressing matters.

Just as progress seemed imminent, another hurdle emerged. The Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) directed LGs to submit at least two years’ worth of audited financial reports as a prerequisite for receiving direct allocation. Key stakeholders, including the Association of Local Governments of Nigeria (ALGON), condemned the directive as perceived delay tactics. 

While we are at it, the long-standing call for the creation of more states has resurfaced. In February, the House of Representatives’ Committee on Constitution Review threw a spanner in the works by proposing the creation of 31 additional states across Nigeria. If this comes to fruition, it would swell the number of states to 67, with some quipping that this would leave Nigeria with more states than “the Almighty United States”.

The proposed distribution of the new states is as follows: six to the North Central, four to the North-East, five to the North-West, five to the South-East, four to the South-South, and seven to the South-West. 

The proposed new states are New Kaduna and Gujarat from Kaduna State, FCT State, Tiga and Ari from Kano, Kainji from Kebbi State, and Etiti, Orashi, Adada, and Orlu from the South-East.

Others are Okun, Okura, and Confluence states from Kogi; Benue Ala and Apa states from Benue; Amana state from Adamawa; Katagum from Bauchi state; Savannah state from Borno; and Muri State from Taraba.

Also included are Lagoon from Lagos, Ogun, Ijebu from Ogun State, as well as Oke Ogun/Ijesha from Oyo/Ogun/Osun States, Ogoja from Cross River State, Warri from Delta, Ori and Obolo from Rivers, Torumbe from Ondo, and Ibadan from Oyo State.

Some proponents interestingly argue that these new states possess abundant mineral and natural resources, which would be harnessed post-creation for the benefit of their people. One is forced to question the logic behind such reasoning and then wonder, are these not already entities within existing states, or would these new states be conjured out of thin air to perform this economic magic?

One would also need to educate Nigerians on a little bit of history and the processes required to achieve state creation in the country. The last time Nigeria created new states was in 1996, under the late General Sani Abacha. The only time a civilian government created a federating unit in the form of a state, rather than a local government area, was in 1963, and it was reportedly done without good faith. 

The Northern People’s Congress (NPC) was the ruling party at the centre, and it was in alliance with the National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons (NCNC), which was the ruling party in the Eastern Region. The ruling party in the Western Region was the Action Group (AG), while the opposition party was at the centre. There were other smaller parties, but only the NPC, NCNC, and AG were well-known. The alliance at the centre wanted to counter the growing influence of the Action Group, so a region was created from it. 

That region was named the Midwest Region, which later became Bendel state (derived from Benin and Delta). Bendel later became the Edo and Delta states.

Since then, only military regimes have created states in Nigeria. The Gowon administration, on May 27, 1967, abolished the regional system and created 12 states – North-Western, North-Central, North-Eastern, Kano, Benue-Plateau, Kwara, Western, Lagos, Mid-Western, East-Central, South-Eastern, and Rivers States – as part of the strategies to weaken Col. Odumegwu Ojukwu and prevent the civil war. 

Creation of states continued under subsequent military regimes. General Murtala Mohammed created an additional seven states (Bauchi, Benue, Borno, Imo, Niger, Ogun, and Ondo) in 1976, bringing the total to 19. 

General Babangida created Akwa Ibom and Katsina states in 1987, and nine more states (Abia, Delta, Enugu, Jigawa, Kebbi, Kogi, Osun, Taraba, and Yobe) in 1991, bringing the total to 30. General Sani Abacha sealed it in 1996 by creating six more states – Bayelsa, Ebonyi, Ekiti, Gombe, Nasarawa, and Zamfara.

Conditions for state creation in a democratic setting are stringent and cumbersome, making it unlikely to happen. Military governments created states by decree, but in a democracy, it is a different ball game.

Before anyone advocates for the creation of a new state, they should study the provisions required to do so. Two-thirds of the National Assembly, as well as endorsements from State Houses of Assembly and Local Government Councils,must be achieved. This requirement makes it challenging to create new states in Nigeria. 

In accordance with Section 8 of the Nigerian Constitution, any new state creation must be preceded by the approval of citizens from the area in question through a referendum conducted by the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC). For the referendum to be successful, a two-thirds majority of the people in question must consent to the creation of the new state.

Then comes resubmission of proposals in line with the prescribed guidelines, which includes submitting hard copies and electronic copies of memoranda to the committee’s secretariat, among other things. 

At a time we all advocate for a cut in governance costs, what would creating new states mean for the economy? What about the scarce resources consumed in holding meetings to contest whether or not to create new states? And what about the cost required to set up additional administrative units, the elections to be conducted, or the SUVs that would need to be purchased for 31 new brand governors and deputies, as well as principal officers in the House of Assembly? 

The stars seem to be aligning in favour of local government autonomy, and hope is on the horizon for meaningful governance at the grassroots level, which will lead to national development. The movement towards state creation,therefore, appears to be an unnecessary and costly distraction.

Lawal Dahiru Mamman writes from Abuja and can be reached via: dahirulawal90@gmail.com.