Opinion
Bamise’s murder and this Cryptocurrency generation
On Saturday, March 12, 2022, I delivered the paper below at the Kegites Club’s celebration of ex-President Olusegun Obasanjo’s 85th birthday which was held at the OOPL (Olusegun Obasanjo Presidential Library) in Abeokuta, Ogun State, with him in attendance:
At the installation of the new Olubadan of Ibadanland, I took my time to listen to his cognomen, with studied interest. I came out of the encounter first, with laughter, then shock and trepidation. His royal majesty’s praise chants describe him as “omo o toro obe, toro abe; boo bun mi l’obe, bun mi l’abe nitori abe dun j’obe lo”. Roughly translated, this means, the child of he who begs for soup and begs for sex; he says if you don’t have soup, hesitate not to give me the taste of sex because sex is sweeter than soup.
Such cognomens and songs give indications of traditional African society. They reveal, not strictly the promiscuity of pre-colonial Africa but even other sins they committed like killing one another for killing’s sake. Take for instance the cognomen, oriki of the Iloko lineage of Oyo Yoruba. Iloko proudly dances to chants of lines like omo abe’nilori fiyoku bun ni, translated to mean, one who cuts off somebody’s head and then forgives the victim after the act. My friend, Lasisi Olagunju, an Iloko, proudly flaunts this.
Elders of our land, today, your traditional Africa is under serial attacks. That same traditional Africa which, in nostalgia, you label the purest of all societies, is today mocked by a generation I call the cryptocurrency generation. As the Olubadan’s cognomen was being chanted, I listened to a very naughty little boy of that generation beside me say, so their generation too was that decadent; so why do they disdain ours?
Early this week, as the lifeless body of 22-year-old Oluwabamise Ayanwole, the young lady who commuted on the Lagos Bus Rapid Transit, was found, you were mocked, elders of our land. Oluwabamise’s remains had been dumped on Lagos’ Carter Bridge, with some of her body parts alleged to be missing. Whether the young hapless lady’s death was as a result of a rape gone awry or ritual killing, we are yet to be fully told. However, Nigerians have recently witnessed a resurgence of killings for money rituals.
Respected British scholar, John Peel, in one of his works, said his research found out that in pre-colonial Nigeria, mortuary killings were predominant in southwest Nigeria and strangers were often killed to preserve the life of a community.
Whenever and wherever mutilated bodies of victims of ritual killings are found, your traditional Africa suffers a terrible blow. As tears roll down their cheeks, children of this generation are quick to warn you, canvassers of the purity of traditional Africa, to save your crocodile tears for another day. They claim that the graveyards are filled with bones of hundreds of people your forefathers murdered for what they called the sustenance of traditional Africa; that money ritual is one of your bequeathals to their generation.
As if that was not enough, the cryptocurrency generation calls you hypocrites. What impudence! Asked to elaborate, the vociferous ones among them said that while your forefathers, in one breath, fascinatingly rendered the ancient poetic lines of J. F. Odunjo Alawiye’s poem which asked us to spare the crawling insect and not stamp our feet on it because it is also God’s creation in the chant, “Yi ese re si apa kan, ma se pa kokoro ni, kokoro ti iwo ko le da, Olorun lo le da”…in another breath, your cultic forebears gorged out eyes, breasts, hearts and private parts of their victims. They said those body parts symbolized creationism and multiplicity. With body parts for rituals, wealth and communal wellbeing were assured.
I know you are stupefied at this generation’s daring guts. But listen yet again. This generation says it is amused that you are bothered at the common occurrence now of teenagers, barely off diapers, driving around shining, metallic wonders-on-wheels. Why are they aghast that we earn millions of dollars from Yahoo Yahoo scam of white men and women? they chorus.
Again, they ask you to cover your face in shame. Rather than the villains you say they are, the cryptocurrency generation says it is a generation of heroes and warriors. Their defence is that this is a generation that has chosen not to stand by and lament the over-a-century slave trading and despoliation of the fecund lands of Africa. According to them, they chose instead to fight your battles, battles that you were too effeminate to fight and could not have won against your taskmasters. By defrauding offspring of your colonial taskmasters who took you into slavery centuries ago, the cryptocurrency generation claims it is helping you repatriate the unpaid wages and sweats of your forefathers who, centuries ago, were hewers of woods and drawers of water for Europe and the Americas.
In your very eyes, those lullabies of purity of traditional Africa are exploding into smithereens, elders of our land, you who are the last surviving offspring of traditional Africa. You are at a crossroads. You are right now at that place where three footpaths meet, the very place you called the crossroads that turns the stranger into a novice, the ikorita meta ti n damu alejo.
In the name of fashion, your children are today the archetype of what you resented with the whole of your being. Your children happily flaunt sartorial madness, regalia of that same species of beings you loathsomely labelled as one whose insane dances at the market square are scintillating to watch but whom no one prays to have as a child; the were dun wo loja, ko se bi l’omo.
This cryptocurrency generation wears that same locked, dishevelled, filthy, lengthy, bushy, dreadlocked hairs that the local madman in your area wears, the equivalent of the hairs on the head of Jesus the Christ’s generation’s madman of Gadarene. Your abetiaja cap they mock to ridicule as Stone Age sartorial cruelty and your agbada receives their scorn as a needless parachute. In its place, they wear torn jean trousers like this same madman of Gadarene and place their trousers below the heap of the two clefts of their bottoms – the bebere idi. But of course, they are ever quick to refer you, our elders, to the aforementioned Olubadan’s cognomen as proof that the generations of yesteryears were not as innocent and pure as they have been made to believe!
Ah ah! The myth of purity is exploding in your very eyes like vapours of nothingness! Today’s fashion, the fashion sense of the cryptocurrency world that we live in, blatantly mocks all that excessive coverage of the essential body parts. Your daughters scarcely wear anything at all today. They make public spoils of their nakedness, advertising their cleavages, the bodily variant of what legendary Yoruba Kennery Music exponent, Orlando Owoh, called the sweet pineapple within which there is multiple sweetness – the ope oyinbo to fi dundun s’ewa.
Didn’t your forefathers teach that there is wisdom in masking glory before its maturation, which you concisely couched in that pithy aphorism, bi isu eni ba ta, a f’owo bo je ni? Your male children today and their new wives pose for photographs on Facebook and Instagram with protruded pregnant alaboyun tummies, more naked than the prehistoric Adam and Eve, in a wild celebration they call Baby Shower. When your forefathers sighted a naked man or woman on the street, aghast, they shouted: “Ikunle abiamo o!” a lamentation of the labour pain of a woman that has come to ruins. If in lamentation of nakedness, your forefathers, when they saw a naked madman on the streets, murmured, aso o b’Omoye mo, Omoye ti rin’hoho w’oja, why do you, elders of our land, tolerate your children wearing nakedness as clothing to the marketplace and you laugh and dance with them?
The best place to begin the interrogation of what has gone wrong with us is to find out whether this generation and generations before them share a meeting of the minds on what values are. We need to dispense with this before we accuse one of cultural and value impunity and beatify the other as torchbearers of standards, values and purity. Why has social media become the new German philosopher, Fredrich Nietzche’s Superman, dishing out absolute moral codes to our children and turning them into alien spectacles we can scarcely recognize? Why have we chosen to look away in odious resignation while our fruits, the leaders of our tomorrow, decimate the values that gave us our sterling identity and pride of old?
In Africa, such values as respect for elders, hard work, respect for seniority, the extended family system, valour, premium on children, etc reigned. Pre-colonial Africa is often held as the Golden Years of the continent.
Let us pick the above African values one by one and see where they are in a 21st-century world. Respect for elders. Celebrated columnist, Reuben Abati, faced one of the most acidic attacks ever recently when he demanded that his age be properly attributed on a television programme. Abati was facing what the late poet, Gabriel Okara, mirrored in his ‘Piano and Drums’, piano symbolizing modernity and drums, traditional Africa. Unfortunately for Abati, he forgot that television and modern broadcasting are 21st-century objects, with their own set codes and ethos, to which he wanted to sacrifice pre-colonial ritual objects! Greetings and respect for elders in Africa, Nigeria, and among the Yoruba, like Rome, were not built in a day and did not die in one day. They die gradually. In Yorubaland, the gradual death of respect for elders began from youngsters offering what is called idobale igbingbado – the corn-planting prostration position. It then moved to the merely-bowing-of-head position and today, respect for elders is facing total annihilation. Youngsters offer handshakes as greetings to elders.
Hard work. Today, only a tiny population of our youths believes in hard work. They want to ride Bugatti and Bentley the day they are born. Music as popular culture in pre-colonial Africa and even immediate post-colonial Africa helped to underscore the value of hard work. Musicians of that period sang that sorcery and magic cannot make one wealthy. Today, musicians sing praises of felons and exalt virtues that they say are in scamming and 419.
In the same manner, the values of the extended family system, valour, premium on children and others have become extinct. Those days, Europeans and Americans celebrated our virtue of communal living, our Ubuntu. Ubuntu is a South African social philosophy of culture which explains Africa’s capacity to express compassion, dignity, harmony and humanity while building and maintaining a sense of communality, justice and mutual caring. Ubuntu is a fellow human feeling which is diametrically opposed to the individualistic theory of society propounded by the French philosopher, René Descartes, expressed in the Latin word, “cogito, ergo sum” – I think, therefore I am. For us in Africa, our underlying social philosophy of culture was, I am because we are. Today, Africa has returned to Descartes. It is everyone for himself and God for us all.
Social media is today held as the culprit of the implosion of immorality in Nigeria. I do not subscribe to this fully. I think what we have now is an explosion of reportage of evil, not an explosion of the act. The truth is, there is little difference in the decadence prevalent in pre-colonial African society and now. The little difference is that the ratio of righteous countrymen then, compared to now, has dwindled considerably. Promiscuity was like pestilence then and immorality ruled our world. Until the Nigerian law forbade it, bastard children, products of liaisons with married women, littered the space. Murder was like sport and injustice was everywhere. In the politics of the First Republic, dead bodies were brought to the front of the houses of political opponents so as to rope them into murder. What the social media can be accused of doing now is coordinating all these indecencies that seem to be latent in us – ones in Zamfara, Ebonyi, to Osun – and making them available across time and space, in a baffling spontaneity that looks like a spike.
The way to begin is for each of us to return to our homes. As the saying goes that whoever the gods want to destroy, they first make mad; the family in Africa has become a mad place. William Yeats, Irish poet, dramatist, writer and one of the foremost figures of 20th-century literature, wrote in his poem, ‘The Second Coming’, talked about things that have gone awry, purity that has been polluted. It is the same in our families today. The falcon cannot hear the falconer as things (have) fallen apart; the centre cannot hold. Right inside the family, mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. Parents gladly receive car gifts from their Yahoo Yahoo children who they know are kingpins of scamming. They are the ones who help to philosophise the fraud rot that has destroyed many victims’ lives forever by saying that Yahoo Yahoo is an attempt to repatriate stolen African valuables by the West. I learnt there is even an association of Yahoo Yahoo mothers.
We have to begin from our homes to teach our children the values and purity of hard work and the unenduring worth of indolence and fraud. We must begin to teach them morals by asking our children to remember the child of whom they are. Though we are in a 21st-century world, J. F. Odunjo’s books, his poems, the stories of tortoise and his wife who we called Ijapa and Yannibo, stories that moulded us to responsible adulthood, are evergreen, imperishable, relevant for this age and are calling for our attention today. Each family must teach their children, from the diapers, about Odunjo’s classic poem, ‘Ise l’ogun ise‘ (Work serves as an antidote to poverty). In fact, it must be hung on the wall as we did almanac those days. That poem teaches that we should intensify efforts at work because, not only is there dignity in labour, work is the only thing that can lift one up.
If we religiously do this, we will be rescuing this generation and the ones to come from the madness of swindling, indolence and warped sense of achievement. More importantly, we will be saving our children from the hands of this fast-moving, all-that-is-wrong-is-right cryptocurrency generation, the scions of the ZaZuZeh culture that kills the Oluwabamises of this world for rituals, believing that in their severed body parts, lie antidotes to poverty.
Dr. Festus Adedayo, a Journalist, Lawyer and Columnist writes
• How systemic fraud is draining billions, weakening businesses and threatening the future of the downstream petroleum sector
The Nigerian petroleum retail industry remains one of the most important drivers of economic activity in the country. Every day, millions of litres of petrol, diesel and other petroleum products are sold through thousands of filling stations spread across cities, towns and rural communities.
To many Nigerians, a filling station is simply a place where vehicles are refuelled. To investors and operators, however, it is a complex business environment involving inventory management, transportation logistics, cash handling, procurement processes, technology systems and human resources. When properly managed, petrol retailing can be highly profitable. When poorly controlled, it can become a breeding ground for one of the most dangerous threats to business sustainability – systemic fraud.
Unlike isolated incidents of theft or misconduct, systemic fraud is far more sophisticated and destructive. It is not the work of a single dishonest employee acting alone. Rather, it is a pattern of fraudulent activities that gradually becomes embedded within an organisation’s operational processes and culture. Over time, such practices become normalised, tolerated and, in some cases, deliberately protected by those who benefit from them.
This is what makes systemic fraud particularly dangerous. It often operates quietly beneath the surface while management remains focused on sales growth, market expansion and operational targets. By the time the full extent of the problem becomes apparent, substantial damage may already have been done.
Across Nigeria’s downstream petroleum sector, systemic fraud continues to drain significant resources from businesses every year. Revenue leakages occur through fuel diversion, stock manipulation, sales suppression, procurement abuses, payroll fraud, inventory theft and cash skimming. In many organisations, these activities take place daily, gradually eroding profitability and shareholder value.
One of the most common schemes is fuel diversion during transportation. Products that leave depots in approved quantities may arrive at their destinations with unexplained shortages. Sometimes these losses are disguised as operational variances or transportation-related discrepancies. In reality, they may be the result of organised siphoning carried out during transit.
Another common practice involves pump calibration manipulation. In such situations, customers unknowingly receive less fuel than the quantity displayed on the dispensing pump. While the discrepancy may appear insignificant on a single transaction, the cumulative financial impact can be enormous when repeated hundreds of times daily across multiple stations.
Tank dip manipulation represents another major challenge. Deliberate alteration of stock measurements allows losses to be concealed, making it difficult for management to accurately determine actual inventory positions. Similarly, sales suppression occurs when transactions are intentionally omitted from official records, creating opportunities for revenue diversion and cash theft.
Procurement fraud, inflated maintenance costs, ghost workers on payrolls, fictitious vendors and collusion between employees and suppliers have also become recurring concerns within many petroleum retail operations.
The unfortunate reality is that systemic fraud thrives where governance is weak, accountability is limited and internal controls are either poorly designed or inadequately enforced. High daily cash transactions, large fuel inventories, multiple operating locations and limited real-time supervision further increase exposure to fraud risks.
The warning signs are often visible long before losses become catastrophic.
Persistent cash shortages, unexplained stock variances, delayed banking, repeated customer complaints, inflated procurement costs and declining profitability despite rising sales should immediately attract management attention. Likewise, employees who resist transfers, refuse annual leave, display unusual secrecy or maintain lifestyles far above their legitimate income levels may warrant closer scrutiny.
Many organisations make the mistake of assessing fraud only from the perspective of direct financial losses.
However, the true cost extends much further.
Systemic fraud distorts management information and weakens decision-making. It undermines operational efficiency, damages corporate reputation, attracts regulatory sanctions and erodes customer confidence. Investors become wary, employees lose morale and businesses struggle to achieve sustainable growth.
Perhaps most damaging is the fact that fraud weakens trust—the single most important asset any organisation possesses. Once trust is compromised, rebuilding it becomes both difficult and expensive.
Addressing this challenge requires a shift from fraud detection to fraud prevention.
The most successful organisations understand that preventing fraud is significantly less costly than investigating fraud after it has occurred. Prevention begins with strong corporate governance, ethical leadership and a clear commitment to accountability at every level of the organisation.
Technology has also become an indispensable ally in the fight against fraud.
Automated tank monitoring systems, CCTV surveillance, GPS tanker tracking, integrated enterprise resource planning systems and data analytics tools provide organisations with greater visibility over operational activities and help identify unusual patterns before they escalate into major losses.
Yet technology alone cannot solve the problem.
Organisations must also invest in people, processes and culture. Employees should receive regular ethics training.
Whistleblower mechanisms must be strengthened and protected.
Responsibilities should be properly segregated and surprise verification exercises should become part of routine operational oversight.
In this regard, Internal Audit has a strategic role to play.
Modern Internal Audit functions must evolve beyond traditional compliance checks and become proactive partners in fraud risk management. Through fraud risk assessments, data analytics, control testing, fraud mapping and unannounced verification exercises, Internal Audit can provide independent assurance that critical controls are operating effectively and that emerging fraud risks are identified before they become crises.
To strengthen organisational resilience against systemic fraud, the Sedabuk Fraud Risk Management Model (SFRMM) was developed as a practical framework for fraud prevention, detection, investigation and sustainable risk management within petroleum retail operations.
The model is built around seven strategic pillars: Surveillance, Fraud Risk Assessment, Robust Internal Controls, Monitoring and Data Analytics, Management Accountability, Detection and Investigation, and Ethical Culture and Employee Engagement. Together, these pillars create a continuous cycle of identifying risks, implementing controls, monitoring activities, detecting anomalies, conducting investigations and driving continuous improvement.
The message for operators in Nigeria’s downstream petroleum sector is simple but urgent: the greatest threat to profitability may not be competition, inflation or market volatility. It may well be the silent leakage of resources occurring within their own operations.
As the industry continues to evolve under ongoing reforms and changing regulatory expectations, organisations must recognise that sustainable profitability is achieved not merely by increasing sales but by protecting every litre of fuel, every naira of revenue, every operational process and every stakeholder’s trust.
Companies that embrace ethical leadership, strong governance, proactive Internal Audit, technology-enabled monitoring and a zero-tolerance culture towards fraud will not only reduce losses but also strengthen stakeholder confidence, improve operational efficiency and position themselves for long-term success.
Dr. Solomon Oroge, PhD, is an accomplished professional in Internal Audit, Risk Management, Corporate Governance, Compliance and Fraud Risk Management with extensive experience in Nigeria’s downstream petroleum industry.
He is the developer of the Sedabuk Fraud Risk Management Model (SFRMM), a proprietary framework designed to help petroleum retail organisations proactively identify, prevent, detect and manage systemic fraud risks.
Oroge can be reached via the following contact details: saoprofessional@gmail.com or +234 806 512 6192.
Opinion
State Police, Local Government Autonomy: Answers to Nigeria’s Lingering Questions | By Titilope Gbadamosi
Almost every democratically elected administration in Nigeria has had to grapple with pockets of insecurity in one form or another. Nigerians have watched uprisings metamorphose into banditry and terrorism, as though every administration had its own uniquely tailored brand of insecurity, defined by the modus operandi of these vicious elements.
The faces change, the methods change, but the burden on whoever occupies the highest office in the land has remained heavy and constant.
Just two administrations ago, during President Goodluck Jonathan’s tenure, we witnessed the horror of the abduction of the Chibok girls and explosives going off in public spaces in Abuja, the nation’s capital. Every well meaning Nigerian was worried, and nowhere felt truly safe. The President’s seat was not the most desirable at the time, and it was clearly a difficult job.
President Muhammadu Buhari’s administration had its own share, mostly in the form of clashes between farmers and herders, driven by grazing routes lost to farming, droughts pushing herders toward greener pastures, and old accommodations between communities slowly breaking down.
I recall quite vividly, while serving as Special Assistant to the former Governor of Oyo State, the late Senator Abiola Ajimobi, joining the head of our team in several peace talks with farmers, traditional rulers, and the Hausa and Fulani community in the state. One lesson from those rooms has stayed with me ever since. The people who understood the grievances, the terrain, and the actors were all local, yet the command of security sat far away in Abuja. That gap is the question every administration has struggled to answer.
Today, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu is in charge, and Nigerians who are students of history watched to see what shape insecurity would take and, more importantly, what this President would do differently. In recent development, the country received an answer that previous decades only debated.
On June 11, following the President’s formal request to the National Assembly to restructure our security architecture, the House of Representatives passed the constitutional amendment to establish state police, with 289 members voting in support and barely a voice against, while the Senate works to complete passage before year end. Today June 12th,2026, in his Democracy Day address, the President spoke plainly: the insecurity we face is partly the product of collapsed grassroots governance, and his administration remains committed to financial autonomy for our 774 local government councils. There it is, a two pronged solution: state police and true local government autonomy.
The first prong closes the gap I saw in those Oyo State peace talks. The amendment to Section 214 of the Constitution creates a dual policing structure under which each state may establish its own force. Security decisions will now be taken by those who know the terrain, the actors, and the grievances at first hand.
To his credit, the President did not merely champion the idea; he asked the National Assembly to institute controls to prevent abuses, the mark of a leader interested in a reform that endures rather than one that backfires. All of this rides on the largest security investment in our history, a 5.41 trillion naira commitment in the 2026 budget and over 50,000 new police officers approved for recruitment.
The second prong puts resources where the new responsibility will live. Since the Supreme Court ruled in July 2024 that federation allocations belonging to local governments must reach them directly, monthly allocations to the 774 councils have grown from roughly 387 billion naira in March 2025 to nearly 530 billion naira by September 2025. The money has never been the problem; control of it was. By pressing autonomy to its conclusion, this administration is returning both funds and accountability to the communities where insecurity actually begins, so that the grassroots governance whose collapse the President identified can finally be rebuilt.
So who wins in all of these? Nigerians win, because security decisions and development funds will finally live where the people live. Governors win the powers they have long demanded, and with them the responsibility they can no longer pass to Abuja. And the country wins a President willing to attempt what others only discussed. The President reminded us on Democracy Day that Nigerians bend and bleed but do not break. With these two reforms, we may finally stop having to prove it so often.
Dr. Titilope Gbadamosi is the Special Assistant on Youth Initiatives (Monitoring and Delivery) to President Bola Ahmed Tinubu.
The most foolish person in a burning house is not the one who cannot find the exit. It is the one who knew the house would burn, watched it happen, and only ran when the ceiling collapsed. That is Nigeria’s governance posture toward insecurity—a pattern so consistent that it has become normalized.
“Ikú tó pa ojúgbà ẹni, òwe ló fi pa. (The death that kills your neighbour is a proverb directed at you).
The bandits did not simply arrive. They sent warnings ahead of them through a trail of violence that crossed state lines and appeared in every massacre headline we filed away as someone else’s problem.
When Insecurity Was Still “Someone Else’s Problem”
When the North was burning and the Middle Belt bleeding, the South West treated it as distant noise. Kwara became the first warning sign—the bridge between North and South—slowly slipping under the shadow of insurgency. The question every serious observer should have asked was simple: what happens when it crosses the border?
South West governors issued statements—careful, brief, and reactive. None moved with the urgency the threat demanded. Before long, violence arrived at our doorstep: herder brutality in Oke-Ogun, attacks in Oyo and Ekiti, kidnappings along the Ibadan–Ijebu-Ode expressway, and forest camps emerging in Ondo.
The warning signs had matured into reality, yet we were still searching for an exit strategy that should have been built years earlier.
The Problem: We Only Count the Dead
In safety performance management, there is a critical distinction between lagging indicators—outcomes after failure (deaths, destruction, losses)—and leading indicators, which measure prevention before failure occurs.
Aviation, oil and gas, and other high-risk industries understand this clearly: a system that obsesses over lagging indicators will always arrive after the accident.
Nigeria’s security governance is built almost entirely on lagging indicators. We count attacks after they happen. We rebuild after a collapse. We mourn after preventable deaths.
We rarely ask:
How many attacks were prevented this quarter?
How many threats were neutralized before execution?
How many cells were dismantled at the planning stage?
We do not know the answers—because we are not measuring them. The system was never designed to prevent. It was designed to respond: loudly, visibly, expensively, and always too late.
Another Base. The Same Question Nobody Asks
The presidency is reportedly considering a military base in Oriire Local Government Area of Oyo state. It is a familiar pattern: a major security incident, public outrage, and an institutional response designed to signal seriousness.
But the critical question remains unanswered: what has been the leading-indicator performance of existing bases?
How have long-standing military formations in places like Jos, Benue, and Zamfara—some active for over two decades—actually shifted the security outcome?
A military base without actionable intelligence is a stationary slaughter ground for soldiers. It does not prevent attacks; it often becomes a reactive outpost in a repeating cycle: attack, deployment, statement, investigation, and then silence—while underlying threat networks remain intact.
The Incentive Structure Behind the Chaos
The deeper issue is not the capability of security forces. It is the incentive structure of the system.
When leadership is judged only by incidents that have already occurred, governance shifts from prevention to performance management of failure. The objective becomes managing optics, not reducing probability.
Nigeria’s security budget has grown significantly over the past decade, yet insecurity has worsened. Kidnappings have become more brazen. Why? Because funding is justified by the persistence of the crisis, not its resolution.
If the problem is solved, what justifies the next budget cycle?
For years, decentralization has been proposed as the structural reform that could change the system—but it remains trapped in political rhetoric. Why? Because decentralization disperses power, and power in Nigeria’s political economy is not dispersed. It is concentrated.
Sixteen Days. Full Stop.
Forty-six children and teachers were kidnapped in Oriire. It reportedly took sixteen days for the presidency to authorize a specialized rescue framework.
Sixteen days before the Commander-in-Chief treated the abduction of forty-six human beings as a crisis requiring formal executive activation.
But responsibility in moments like this is not singular.
The Oyo State Governor, by constitutional convention regarded as the Chief Security Officer of the state and a recipient of security votes, also occupies a central coordinating role in the security architecture of the state. Within a crisis of this scale, expectations of rapid intergovernmental coordination, visible command urgency, and sustained pressure on federal response mechanisms are not optional, hey are inherent to the office.
Yet, the response cycle, from abduction to high-level coordinated action and physical engagement with affected communities, unfolded at a pace that raised legitimate public concern about the speed and intensity of institutional reaction.
By the time visible field visits and coordinated engagements occurred, the delay had already become part of the public record of the crisis itself—shaping perception as much as the incident shaped fear on the ground.
In a functional security system, crisis response is measured in hours, not days. Not for symbolism, but because time directly affects outcomes: every passing hour in an active kidnapping reduces the probability of safe recovery and increases the leverage of perpetrators.
Sixteen days, therefore, is not merely a lapse in timing. It reflects a deeper structural problem—where urgency is often declared after pressure builds, rather than operationalized when intelligence first breaks.
And in that gap between incident and action, citizens are left to absorb the consequences of delayed coordination across all tiers of authority.
The Verdict
Nigeria does not primarily need more military bases. It needs a new security measurement architecture—one that prioritizes intelligence conversion rates, early-warning response times, and pre-emptive disruption metrics over post-incident operations.
Every threat must be treated as time-sensitive, where minutes and hours determine outcomes—not weeks and statements.
Most importantly, citizens must shift the accountability question:
Not only “why did the attack happen?”
But “why was it not prevented?”
Nigeria’s security challenge is ultimately a leadership and systems failure—an institutional preference for reaction over prevention, because prevention is politically invisible.
You cannot hold a press conference about the attack that never happened.
Until this reality is named and confronted with precision, the cycle will continue.
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