Analysis
Beyond A Defence Minister, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman
Beyond A Defence Minister, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman
When the name of General Christopher Gwabin Musa (rtd) was announced as the new Minister of Defence for Nigeria, many citizens did not cheer — they exhaled. In a country where hope often flickers faster than security, each new appointment carries the burden of history. Nigerians are tired of seeing ministers swap titles, while insecurity deepens, kidnappings proliferate, and communities collapse.
To understand the challenge he inherits, one must revisit the history of Nigeria’s Defence Ministry from 1999 onward. The first in the Fourth Republic was retired Lieutenant-General Theophilus Yakubu Danjuma, who assumed office in June 1999 after democracy was restored. Danjuma’s appointment was meant to restore honour and discipline to a military tainted by years of dictatorship. His immediate task was political: reassure Nigerians that the Armed Forces would no longer be politics by another name, and help transition from military rule to civilian governance. He helped steer budgets toward rebuilding and re-equipping, initiating what was then a credible attempt at professionalising Nigeria’s armed forces. But those efforts addressed conventional defence, not the emerging internal threats. Danjuma’s tenure ended in May 2003 with the civilianization of leadership but by then the foundations for internal security challenge management remained shallow.
In July 2003, Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso became Defence Minister under President Obasanjo’s second term, and thus inaugurated an era of civilian political stewardship at the Ministry of Defence. His time, stretching to May 2007, coincided with the earliest stirrings of what would become insurgency. Boko Haram was still marginal, largely ignored by national security architecture focused on external defence. Kwankwaso’s strengths lay in politics and governance, but not in shaping a doctrinal shift toward internal security or insurgency response. The defence ministry under him remained oriented toward traditional armed-forces metrics of equipment, formal deployments, diplomacy while Nigeria lurched toward a reality that required intelligence-driven, community-rooted internal security frameworks.
When Mahmud Yayale Ahmed took over in July 2007 and served until September 2008, the writing was already on the wall. Boko Haram had begun to emerge visibly, yet the response remained bureaucratic. Yayale Ahmed brought civil-service credentials and an administrative mindset, not military temperament. The ministry managed procurement, sustained the flagging morale of the forces after years of underfunding, but did little to evolve institutional capacity for asymmetric threats.
By late 2008 and early 2009, under Shettima Mustapha and subsequently the retired Major-General Godwin Abbe, Nigeria entered what would become its darkest chapter of internal insecurity. In 2009, Boko Haram erupted violently. Abbe, a former soldier turned politician, presided during the crescendo of that crisis. The response was drastic but superficial: raids, crackdowns, mass arrests, but little reckoning with root causes. Communities were ravaged, trust was eroded, animosity deepened between the security forces and civilians. The violence may have been met with force, yet the underlying grievances, intelligence failures and governance vacuums were never addressed. The result was predictable: suppression bred resentment, insurgency morphed and scattered, later to resurge with renewed vigour.
When the baton passed to civilian ministers Adetokunbo Kayode (2010–2011), Haliru Mohammed Bello (2011–2012), and Olusola Obada (2012–2013), Nigeria sank deeper into chronic internal instability. Their tenures focused largely on procurement, revitalizing weapon stocks and administrative reshuffles, rather than systemic overhaul. There were no comprehensive reforms of policing, no robust intelligence-sharing across agencies, no serious investment in community-based early-warning or conflict-prevention mechanisms. Some may have tried to manage manpower, restructure departments or buy equipment, but the enemy had changed: asymmetric war, civilian-targeted violence, kidnapping rings, banditry, communal conflicts. The Ministry remained geared for conventional threats. As a result, Nigeria drifted.
A temporary caretaker period under Labaran Maku (2013–2014) barely registered any shift. Then came a moment of cautious optimism. Aliyu Mohammed Gusau, whose career spanned multiple security and intelligence roles, was appointed Defence Minister in March 2014. His background and reputation suggested a possible turning point: here was a man who understood threats beyond the battlefield. He attempted, in the brief span he held office, to emphasise intelligence coordination, inter-agency cooperation, and reform of structural leakages. But insurgency had already scaled across regions; Boko Haram had splintered, and the patience and capacity were thin. Gusau’s efforts lacked political depth and time. When his tenure ended in May 2015, so too did the hopes of seeing a decisive shift from reactive force to preventive security architecture.
Under subsequent ministers Mansur Mohammed Dan-Ali (2015–2019) and retired Major-General Bashir Salihi Magashi (2019–2023), the tendency again was toward kinetics, procurement, routine operations — heavy-handed responses to terror strikes, bandit raids, kidnappings. The Armed Forces regained some currency; there were operations, there were “victories,” and sometimes media reports of dislodged cells or rescued hostages. But the casualty was strategic consistency. The underlying problems: weak policing institutions, uncoordinated intelligence between state and federal agencies, porous borders, and a civilian security vacuum. Without credible law enforcement reforms, social rehabilitation and community engagement, cleared zones relapsed. Violence remained endemic.
When President Bola Ahmed Tinubu picked Mohammed Badaru Abubakar, a former two-term governor as Defence Minister in August 2023, many hoped that his executive political experience would at last shapeshift national security policy. But reality proved more unforgiving than expectation. By November 2025, Nigeria had witnessed mass kidnappings, schoolchildren abducted en masse, rural communities under siege, and public confidence crumbling. On November 26, President Tinubu declared a nationwide security emergency, ordering mass recruitment into police and army ranks and authorizing new deployments of forest guards to flush out terrorists and bandits from remote hideouts. The aim was to inject manpower; but as many analysts warned, manpower without structural reform is like pouring water into a leaking pot. On December 1, 2025, Badaru resigned reportedly on health grounds.
The very next day, on December 2, President Tinubu nominated retired General Christopher Gwabin Musa as Minister of Defence. Musa had served as Chief of Defence Staff from 2023 until October 2025, when he was relieved in a wide-ranging military shake-up. His record is impeccable: commissioned as Second Lieutenant in 1991 after graduating from the Nigerian Defence Academy, Musa rose steadily through command ranks, served in key operational theatres, including as Theatre Commander in counter-insurgency campaigns and won the Colin Powell Award for Soldiering in 2012.
This appointment represents more than a change of guard; it presents a crossroads. For generations, Nigeria’s Defence Ministry oscillated between procurement-focused bureaucracy and reactive operations. The missing link was always a coherent, nationwide internal security doctrine, one that recognises terrorism, banditry, kidnapping, communal wars and urban criminality as equal or greater threats than cross-border war. Musa may be the man with the credentials; but credentials do not automatically translate to success. For that, he will need more than a uniform, he will need vision, political courage, and structural reengineering.
First, intelligence in Nigeria has long been a patchwork of agencies: military intelligence, police Special Branch, state-level vigilante networks, local community informants, and often unofficial actors. Every Defence Minister since 1999 has inherited this fragmentation. Even when ministers like Aliyu Gusau explicitly prioritized intelligence reform, they lacked either the time, political backing, or institutional leverage to bind these threads into a functional national network. Under Musa, Nigeria must build a real Intelligence Fusion Centre, statutory in law, resourced, and empowered to gather, analyse, and share data across all security agencies. It should not be another office with flowery titles; it must be the beating heart of Nigeria’s security architecture.
Second, Nigeria’s policing and internal security apparatus remain dangerously under-developed. The police are overstretched or mis-deployed; conventional policing capacities are weak; law enforcement is uneven across states or non-existent in many rural areas. In effect, the military ends up policing civilians, a recipe for human rights violations, community alienation, and cycles of violence. Musa must use his credibility both as military man and now Defence Minister to push for statutory police reform, to support state-level policing initiatives, and to redefine roles: the military defends the country externally and responds to exceptional internal crises; the police and civil security agencies maintain daily law enforcement and community protection. That might require political negotiation with governors and lawmakers.
Third, Nigeria must stop treating security as a matter of fire-power and weapons. As urban kidnappings show, and as rural banditry and communal conflicts prove, contemporary insecurity thrives on mobility, networks, subversion, infiltration, and terror. The new minister should prioritise modern security tools: drones for surveillance, communication-intercept (COMINT and SIGINT) capacity, special forces trained in counter-terror, local informant networks, rapid reaction units — small, mobile, intelligence-driven. Big tank brigades and conventional formations have their place; but they are blunt instruments in a country where threats can strike schools at night and vanish into forests by dawn.
Even military brilliance alone will fail if it remains disconnected from society. Nigeria’s security problems are deeply structural: poverty, social dislocation, youth unemployment, weak institutions, poor governance, inter-communal crises, land conflicts, ethnic and religious fractures. Every military advance that does not come with social stabilization — resettlement of displaced persons, rebuilding of schools, reviving of farms and markets, psychosocial support, community reconciliation — simply displaces the problem. The new Defence Minister must insist that security operations be paired with civil-affairs initiatives: resettlement, restoration, rebuilding.
Finally, the Ministry must embrace transparency and result-oriented reporting. For too long, Nigerians have depended on headlines: “Bandits killed,” “Scores of terrorists neutralised,” “Villages liberated.” But those headlines rarely translate into lasting security. The public needs measurable outcomes: fewer kidnappings, fewer mass attacks, safer roads, resettled communities, functioning markets, schools reopened, return of displaced people.
General Musa steps into office at a critical moment: the presidency has just declared a nationwide security emergency; recruitment into police and army forces has been ordered; forest guards are to be deployed, and VIP-protection officers are to be redeployed to frontier duties. These are signals that the government finally acknowledges the scale of the crisis, but manpower without structure is no answer.
If Musa gets it right, this appointment could mark the beginning of a long overdue transformation. If he fails, the nation risks descending deeper into despair: more missing schoolchildren, more displaced families, more ghost towns.
Nigeria does not need another Defence Minister. What Nigeria needs is a Defence Minister who is also an architect of a new national security system: one that integrates intelligence, law enforcement, civil protection, social support, governance and accountability. The war to reclaim Nigeria’s peace is no longer just on the battlefield but in institutions, in policies, in communities, and in hearts.
Gen. Christopher Gwabin Musa (rtd) now carries the weight of that history. If he can convert his military credentials into strategic reforms, if he can lead with vision, then he may offer Nigeria more than hope: a path to security; a chance at peace.
Analysis
Let the Bishop’s Visit Heal Us — A Call for Peace Among Mbaise Sons and Daughters in the Diaspora
Let the Bishop’s Visit Heal Us — A Call for Peace Among Mbaise Sons and Daughters in the Diaspora
By Boniface Ihiasota
Publisher/Correspondent, Foreign Press Center, Washington D.C.
Excel Global Media Group Inc, USA
The first episcopal visit of His Lordship, Rt. Rev. Simeon Okezuo Nwobi, Catholic Bishop of Ahiara Diocese, to the DMV is more than a Mass. More than a reception. More than protocol.
It is a divine appointment.
On Sunday, July 12, 2026, at 3:00 PM, the people of Mbaise in DC, Maryland, Virginia, and neighboring states will gather at St. Matthias Catholic Church, Lanham, to welcome our Bishop. Friendship Hall will open its doors. But the real question is: Will we open our hearts?
At a time when our Mbaise diaspora community is blessed with numbers, talent, and resources, we are also burdened by something far less holy — division. The whispers have grown louder than our prayers. Gossip travels faster than goodwill. Clans compete where they should collaborate. Brothers ignore brothers. Sisters wound sisters with words. We are building houses side by side in Maryland, Virginia, and D.C., yet building walls between our hearts.
This cannot be our story in a foreign land.
I appeal to His Lordship: Let this visit be a moment of soul searching for all of us. Use your shepherd’s staff not only to bless an altar, but to gather a scattered flock. Preach to us again the Gospel we know but too often forget — _“Love one another as I have loved you.”_ John 13:34 did not come with exceptions for village meetings, title disputes, or WhatsApp arguments.
Mbaise people are known for faith, resilience, and intellect. We produced bishops, professors, doctors, builders. But what does it profit us to gain the whole DMV and lose our brotherhood? Our children are watching. They are learning how to be Igbo in America from us. Are we teaching them unity or enmity?
Let St. Matthias on July 12 be remembered not just as the place we welcomed our Bishop, but as the ground where healing began. Let every son and daughter of Mbaise who enters Friendship Hall that day become a witness to a new covenant: That from this day, we will eschew hate. We will kill gossip before it kills our community. We will disagree without destroying.
Division is easy. Anybody can pull down. Peace is the hard, holy work of builders. And we are _Ndi Mbaise_ — we are builders.
Bishop Nwobi, you carry the moral authority of Ahiara Diocese. We, your children abroad, carry the weight of survival in a foreign land. Neither is easy. But together, we can make this diaspora a cathedral of love, not a courtyard of conflict.
I call on every Mbaise union, every age grade, every family, every individual: Come to the drawing board. The Bishop is coming. The Church doors are open. The moment is now.
Let us leave Friendship Hall as brothers and sisters, not just by blood, but by bond. Let us pursue our good, and the good of the community at large. For in the end, _“Umunna bu ike”_ — but only when _Umunna_ is at peace.
May this visit not just welcome a Bishop. May it restore a people.
I come in peace.
Analysis
Understanding Kwara’s New Security Landscape, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman
Understanding Kwara’s New Security Landscape, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman
There are journeys that leave you with more questions than answers. There are also journeys that challenge the assumptions carefully built from social media commentaries, political arguments and sensational headlines. Kwara’s security story belongs in that category.
For months, the dominant narrative has oscillated between two extremes. On one side are those who insist that the state has become a model of coordinated security response under Governor AbdulRahman AbdulRazaq. On the other are critics who argue that nothing has changed because kidnappings still occur, farmers are occasionally attacked and some communities continue to live under the shadow of fear. The truth, as is often the case, lies somewhere in between.
Security is perhaps the most difficult sector to evaluate because its greatest achievements are rarely visible. A school can be commissioned. A road can be measured in kilometres. A hospital can be counted in beds. But how does one measure an attack that never happened because intelligence intercepted the perpetrators? How does one quantify the confidence of a farmer who returns to his farmland after months of uncertainty? How do you calculate the value of a market that gradually comes alive again because armed patrols now dominate routes that were once deserted?
These questions came to mind while reflecting on the evolving security landscape across Kwara North and parts of Kwara South during my tour in the days leading to this year’s Eid-el-Adha (Big Sallah) celebration.
What became obvious is that the conversation should no longer be about whether insecurity exists. It does. The more useful debate is whether Kwara today is better prepared to confront it than it was a few years ago. That distinction matters.
The events of February 3 and 4, 2026, remain one of the darkest moments in the state’s contemporary history. Terrorists descended on Woro and Nuku Communities in Kaiama Local Government Area, killing scores of residents, burning homes, destroying livelihoods and abducting others after months of reported threats to the communities. The attacks left entire families shattered and forced many survivors into displacement. Estimates of the death toll varied, but humanitarian agencies and international media reported that well over 160 people were killed, making it one of the deadliest attacks in Nigeria this year.
The attack fundamentally altered Kwara’s security conversation. It was no longer about isolated kidnappings or criminal gangs seeking ransom. It exposed the growing danger of extremist elements exploiting the vast forests around Kaiama, Baruten and neighbouring parts of Niger State.
The immediate aftermath painted a heartbreaking picture. Reports showed that Woro, once a thriving agrarian community, became largely deserted as survivors fled in search of safety. Only a fraction of the population remained behind to bury the dead and protect what little was left. Shops were shut. Schools stopped functioning. Farming activities halted almost completely. A community that had once depended on agriculture suddenly found itself battling for survival.
It was against this backdrop that the Governor AbdulRazaq administration faced perhaps its greatest security test.
To be fair, no state government possesses constitutional control over the military, police or intelligence agencies. Governors are called chief security officers largely by convention rather than operational authority. Yet citizens naturally hold them accountable whenever insecurity escalates. Rather than retreat into constitutional excuses, the administration adopted a multi-layered response.
As was relayed by both Traditional Rulers of Woro and Babanla, Alhaji Saliu Bio Umar and Oba Aliyu Alabi Yusuf (Arojojoye II) during my tour to their respective domain said Governor AbdulRahman AbdulRazaq visited the affected communities shortly after the attacks, describing the killings as a deliberate massacre and assuring residents that the government would not abandon them.
He subsequently engaged President Bola Tinubu and federal security authorities, pushing for stronger military intervention in the affected axis. That engagement resulted in the approval and eventual launch of Operation Savannah Shield, a joint military operation involving the Nigerian Army, Navy and Air Force to secure Kwara and adjoining parts of Niger State.
Operation Savannah Shield did not emerge in isolation. It came after months of increasing concern over terrorist infiltration into the forests stretching across Kaiama, Baruten and Edu Local Government Areas. The operation introduced additional troops, armoured assets, aerial surveillance, intelligence-driven operations and coordinated patrols aimed at dismantling criminal enclaves around the Kainji axis.
The operation was also consistent with the Federal Government’s broader security strategy for the first half of 2026, during which Kwara featured prominently among the country’s operational flashpoints alongside Borno, Yobe, Taraba, Katsina, Zamfara, Sokoto, Plateau, Benue, Niger, Oyo and Kaduna.
According to the Joint Security Press Briefing by the Defence Headquarters and other national security agencies on Thursday, 2nd of July, 2026, troops conducted 14,221 coordinated security operations nationwide between January and June 2026. These operations resulted in the neutralisation of 1,597 terrorists and insurgents, the rescue of 1,516 kidnapped victims, the recovery of 451 firearms, 16,726 rounds of ammunition, and 161 explosives and Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs). Intelligence-driven raids, clearance missions and rescue operations specifically covered flashpoints that included Kwara, demonstrating the state’s strategic importance in the national counter-insurgency effort.
But military deployments alone do not tell the whole story. Secretary to the State Government, Professor Mamman Saba Jibril, during an interview with some Defence Editors in Ilorin in May said “Long before the Woro tragedy, the Kwara State Government had consistently invested in strengthening security logistics. Through Operation Harmony, the administration procured patrol vehicles, distributed motorcycles to all sixteen local government areas, supported communication equipment, provided operational logistics and sustained collaboration with the Nigeria Police Force, the Nigerian Army, the Department of State Services, the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps, the Nigeria Immigration Service and local vigilante groups. These interventions were designed to improve mobility, intelligence gathering and rapid response across vulnerable communities.”
Those investments complemented rather than replaced federal security operations. The administration’s sustained logistical support enabled security agencies to improve operational mobility across the difficult terrain stretching from Kaiama through Baruten to Edu. Equally important was the growing integration of local vigilantes, hunters and community intelligence networks with conventional security agencies, recognising that defeating armed groups operating inside forests requires both military capability and local knowledge.
Critics are quick to ask an understandable question: if all these interventions exist, why do kidnappings still occur? It is a fair question. Yet it also reflects the temptation to judge security by isolated incidents rather than broader trajectories.
No serious security analyst measures success by expecting absolute zero crime. Even countries with the world’s most sophisticated policing systems continue to confront organised criminality. The relevant question is whether institutions are becoming stronger, whether response times are improving, whether intelligence networks are expanding and whether communities are regaining confidence.
In Kwara, evidence suggests cautious but measurable progress. Beyond the increased visibility of troops and security patrols, law enforcement agencies have recorded concrete operational successes. During the first half of 2026, the Nigeria Police Force dismantled a 33-member criminal network involved in terrorism, cattle rustling and violent attacks in Kwara State. Intelligence-led policing also intensified across the forest corridors linking Oyo, Ogun, Ondo, Ekiti, Kwara and Kogi States—routes long exploited by kidnappers, terrorists and armed gangs. In another major breakthrough, police dismantled a railway vandalism syndicate operating across Nasarawa, Bauchi and Kwara States, recovering approximately 60 tonnes of vandalised railway materials valued at about ₦400 million, thereby disrupting another organised criminal network.
Several communities that experienced disruption earlier in the year are gradually witnessing the return of commercial transport, weekly markets and farming activities under increased security presence. Farmers who abandoned portions of their farmlands are slowly returning, though many still do so with understandable caution. Commercial vehicles that once avoided certain routes now operate under the reassurance of military patrols and security checkpoints. Confidence remains fragile, but it is no longer absent.
The emotional scars, however, remain visible. The people of Woro continue to appeal to government at every level not merely to rebuild houses but to rescue those still abducted during the attacks. Families remain hopeful that missing relatives will someday return. Their request is simple: security operations should continue until every criminal network responsible for the tragedy is dismantled and those still in captivity regain their freedom. That appeal reminds everyone that security is ultimately about people rather than statistics.
Another lesson emerging from Kwara’s experience is that security cannot be divorced from economic development. Kaiama, Baruten, Edu and parts of Patigi constitute important agricultural belts. Whenever insecurity keeps farmers away from their fields, the consequences extend far beyond those communities. Food production declines, rural incomes collapse and local markets weaken. It is therefore unsurprising that Governor AbdulRazaq has repeatedly linked security operations with food security, arguing that protecting farming communities is as much an economic imperative as it is a law enforcement responsibility.
There is also a quieter aspect of the administration’s intervention that rarely attracts headlines. Traditional rulers, community leaders, hunters and local vigilante formations have become increasingly integrated into intelligence gathering.
Security agencies understand that the first indication of suspicious movement often comes not from technology but from local residents who know their environment intimately. Nationally, this community-centred approach has become a key pillar of military operations. Between January and June 2026, the Armed Forces conducted 33 peacebuilding initiatives, 13 public sensitisation campaigns and 33 stakeholder engagement meetings involving traditional rulers, religious leaders and community stakeholders. Kwara has increasingly benefited from this collaborative security model.
None of this suggests that government has solved every problem. It has not.
Remote communities still require greater security presence. Forest surveillance must become even more sophisticated. Border management around the Benin Republic axis deserves continued strengthening. More permanent security formations may still be necessary in vulnerable areas. Victims of terrorism require sustained rehabilitation beyond emergency relief. Yet fairness also demands acknowledging what has changed.
Professor Mamman Saba Jibril further noted during the interview that Kwara of today is not confronting insecurity with the same institutional capacity it possessed a few years ago, affirming operational mobility has expanded through improved logistics and state support. “Federal and state collaboration has deepened considerably. Intelligence coordination among the Armed Forces, Nigeria Police Force, Department of State Services, Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps, Nigeria Immigration Service and local security volunteers has become more structured,” Jibril emphasized.
The dismantling of a 33-member criminal network in Kwara, intensified military operations within the Kainji axis and sustained intelligence-led operations across vulnerable communities underscore a more proactive security posture than previously existed. These developments do not erase tragedy, but they significantly improve the state’s capacity to prevent future attacks and respond more effectively when threats emerge.
Ultimately, security is measured not only by the absence of attacks but by the resilience of institutions. Kwara’s experience over the past year illustrates this reality. The February massacre in Woro and Nuku exposed dangerous vulnerabilities, but it also triggered one of the most coordinated security responses the state has witnessed in recent years. Military deployments increased, intelligence sharing improved, criminal networks were dismantled, and communities previously isolated by fear gradually began reclaiming normal life. While the threat has not disappeared, the institutional response is demonstrably stronger than before. Perhaps that is the real lesson.
Security is not a destination where governments eventually arrive and declare victory. It is a continuous process of adaptation against adversaries who constantly evolve. Every patrol vehicle deployed, every intelligence report acted upon, every community engagement held and every kilometre of forest reclaimed represents another step in that long journey.
Those who insist that nothing has changed ignore these institutional improvements. Those who claim everything is perfect ignore the grief of families still mourning loved ones, the fear of communities rebuilding from trauma and the reality that isolated attacks continue to occur. The wiser position lies between both extremes.
Kwara’s new security landscape is neither the paradise described by enthusiastic supporters nor the hopeless battlefield portrayed by relentless critics. It is a state confronting an evolving threat with increasing resolve, improved coordination and sustained investment, while recognising that the journey towards lasting peace is still unfinished. Beyond the gunfire and beyond the politics, perhaps that is the story that deserves to be told.
Alabidun is a Journalist and Editor and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com
Analysis
The Politics of Akara and Kuli-Kuli Empowerment, by Boniface Ihiasota
The Politics of Akara and Kuli-Kuli Empowerment, by Boniface Ihiasota
In a country battling one of its worst economic crises in decades, every statement and public programme from those in positions of leadership carries enormous symbolic weight. Nigerians are not only listening to what their leaders say; they are also measuring whether government actions reflect the daily struggles of ordinary citizens. That is why the recent empowerment initiative championed by Nigeria’s First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, has generated widespread criticism across the country.
The initiative, which encouraged women to embrace small-scale ventures such as akara frying, corn roasting and similar petty businesses, may have been conceived as a grassroots poverty alleviation programme. Across Nigeria, countless women have built respectable livelihoods through food vending and other micro-enterprises. There is dignity in honest labour, and no profession should be ridiculed.
However, the criticism is not directed at these occupations themselves. Rather, it is about the apparent disconnect between the scale of Nigeria’s economic challenges and the kind of empowerment being promoted by the nation’s highest office dedicated to women.
Since President Bola Ahmed Tinubu assumed office on May 29, 2023, his administration has implemented sweeping economic reforms, including the removal of petrol subsidy and the liberalisation of the foreign exchange market. While these policies were presented as necessary for long-term economic recovery, they have also contributed to soaring inflation, rising transportation costs and an unprecedented increase in the prices of food and essential commodities. Millions of Nigerian households have seen their purchasing power eroded.
According to the National Bureau of Statistics, food inflation has consistently remained among the highest components of the country’s inflation figures over the past two years. For many families, survival has become a daily struggle rather than a long-term economic plan.
Against this backdrop, many Nigerians expected empowerment programmes that would focus on access to affordable credit, vocational training in technology and manufacturing, agricultural value chains, digital entrepreneurship and medium-scale business development. Such interventions would not only provide immediate relief but also create pathways for sustainable wealth creation.
Instead, the emphasis on traditional petty trading has been interpreted by many as lowering the aspirations of Nigerian women at a time when countries across Africa are investing heavily in innovation, digital skills and industrial development.
The First Lady’s office occupies a unique position in Nigeria’s governance structure. Although it is not a constitutional office, it has historically been used to champion major social causes. Previous First Ladies have led campaigns on maternal health, education, HIV/AIDS awareness, women’s rights and humanitarian interventions. Consequently, every initiative launched from the office inevitably attracts national scrutiny.
Critics have also pointed to previous public engagements involving the First Lady, including the distribution of vehicles to party women leaders at periods when the country was grappling with serious security concerns, including the abduction of schoolchildren in different parts of northern Nigeria. Whether fair or not, such images reinforce a perception that political elites remain insulated from the hardships confronting ordinary Nigerians.
Perception matters in governance. Leadership is not merely about implementing programmes; it is equally about understanding the emotional pulse of the people. At a time when many women are university graduates, professionals, innovators and entrepreneurs seeking access to finance, markets and modern business opportunities, public messaging should inspire ambition rather than reinforce subsistence.
Constructive criticism should not be mistaken for ethnic or partisan hostility. Democratic accountability requires citizens to question public officials irrespective of tribe, religion or political affiliation. Holding leaders accountable strengthens democracy rather than weakens it.
The challenge before Nigeria is not whether women should sell akara, roast corn or produce local snacks. Many successful businesses have humble beginnings. The real question is whether government should limit its vision of women’s economic empowerment to survival-level enterprises while millions seek opportunities to participate meaningfully in a modern economy.
Nigerian women deserve policies that match their talents, education and aspirations. Empowerment should not simply help citizens survive poverty; it should equip them to escape it permanently. That is the standard by which every government initiative should be measured.
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