The Likes of Kila in Our Society, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

There is something particularly troubling about a person who spends years telling society what is wrong with its leaders, questioning the integrity of public institutions, demanding transparency from those in authority and insisting that accountability is the bedrock of good governance, only to find himself confronted with questions about the very integrity he expects others to uphold. Such an act goes beyond personal embarrassment; it raises fundamental questions about the credibility of public intellectuals and the moral authority upon which their influence rests. The controversy surrounding Anthony Kila, a familiar voice in Nigeria’s public discourse, presents an uncomfortable but necessary question: can those who hold others accountable escape the same scrutiny they demand of everyone else?

In a country where public trust has suffered repeated injuries from political deception, institutional failures and the abuse of public office, the distinction between what a person preaches and what he practises matters enormously. Society needs people who can interrogate power without fear, challenge dishonesty without compromise and insist that public officials answer for their actions. But what happens when one of the voices making these demands becomes the subject of serious questions about his own credentials? What becomes of the argument for accountability when the advocate must himself account for the foundation of his public identity?

The investigations published by PREMIUM TIMES on October 3 and October 10, 2026, concerning Kila’s professorial title and claimed academic qualifications, have brought these questions into sharp focus. The first report found no evidence that a recognised academic institution had awarded him the professorial rank he had publicly used for years. The subsequent investigation questioned his claimed bachelor’s, master’s, doctoral and other qualifications, reporting discrepancies between his claims and information obtained from institutions he said he attended. Even though Kila has rejected the description of him as a fake professor, he maintained that he stands by his credentials and said he was gathering his academic and professional documents. These are serious allegations, and the appropriate investigations must be allowed to establish the facts. Nevertheless, the questions raised cannot be dismissed simply because they concern a familiar media personality rather than an elected politician.

What makes this controversy especially troubling is not merely the title at its centre but the public expectations attached to it. Kila has built a recognisable presence as a political analyst, public commentator and advocate of institutional accountability. His opinions have travelled through television studios, newspaper columns and public discussions. He has been part of the conversation through which Nigerians examine governance, leadership and the direction of their country. That influence should not be casually discounted, and neither should his intellectual contributions be retrospectively declared worthless because of the present controversy. The more important question is why a person with such visibility and the apparent ability to engage complex public issues would allow his professional identity to become entangled in claims that he must now struggle to substantiate.

There is a difference between possessing knowledge and possessing a certificate. There is also a difference between being intellectually capable and being entitled to an academic rank. A person may read widely, understand political economy, analyse public policy and contribute meaningfully to national debate without holding a doctorate or occupying a university professorship. Society has produced remarkable thinkers whose authority emerged from their work, experience and ability to explain difficult questions, not from the titles preceding their names. If Kila possesses the intellectual capacity that many of his admirers have attributed to him, why would any title beyond his demonstrable achievements be necessary to establish his worth?

In a society obsessed with titles, the temptation to embellish one’s credentials can become powerful. Professor, doctor, chief executive, consultant and international expert have become more than descriptions of professional standing. They are often treated as shortcuts to respect, invitations to television programmes, access to influential circles and opportunities to shape public decisions. The title can become more important than the substance of the person carrying it. Once society begins to reward appearances more generously than competence, those who understand the system may be tempted to manufacture the appearance rather than patiently establish the substance.

Yet the appetite for titles does not excuse the person who misrepresents his qualifications, if the allegations are established. It exposes both the individual and the society that makes such misrepresentation attractive. A genuine academic distinction is earned through recognised institutional processes, scholarship, teaching, research and assessment. It is not created by repeatedly describing oneself in a particular way, nor does public familiarity transform an unverified claim into an established fact. The title of professor carries an institutional meaning that cannot be replaced by personal conviction or public popularity.

On October 6, 2026, Michael and Cecilia Ibru University in Agbarha-Otor, Delta State, asked Kila to step aside from his responsibilities as pro-chancellor pending an investigation into questions surrounding his professorial status. The Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission also constituted a team to investigate the allegations. These developments demonstrate that the controversy has moved beyond social media arguments and personal reputations to questions about institutional responsibility. A university governing council is not an ornamental gathering. It exercises authority over administration, policy, finances and other important aspects of institutional governance. Anyone occupying such a position must be able to satisfy legitimate questions about qualifications presented in support of his public standing.

The implications extend beyond Kila because if a university can place a person in a position of considerable responsibility without adequately verifying the credentials associated with his public profile, what does that say about its recruitment and governance procedures? If television stations repeatedly introduce a commentator as a professor without independently establishing the basis of that designation, what does that say about editorial diligence? And if the public accepts titles as evidence of expertise without asking who conferred them, the institution that awarded them or the work supporting them, are we not collectively encouraging the culture we later condemn?

Also, ARISE News has announced on October 13, 2026, that Kila would no longer appear on its platforms following the allegations and its unsuccessful attempt to obtain his response within the period it specified. The action might be said to be an afterthought. The platform should have diligently do background checks on him before making him the face and the voice of his flagship show. Suspending him after the the expose is reactional.

There is, however, a wider moral problem in the conduct of people who demand from others standards they appear unwilling to apply to themselves. The politician who condemns corruption but manipulates public resources, the activist who preaches transparency but conceals his own dealings, the journalist who demands truth but publishes unverified allegations, and the public intellectual who questions the credentials of others while leaving his own claims unexplained all participate in the same culture of contradiction. Their positions differ, but the underlying failure is identical. They want the moral authority of accountability without accepting its personal obligations.

Such people can become particularly influential because they understand the language of public morality. They know how to identify institutional weaknesses, explain the consequences of poor governance and present themselves as alternatives to a compromised establishment. Their arguments may even be correct. But correctness on one issue does not automatically confer integrity in every other aspect of life. A person can make an excellent argument about corruption and still face legitimate questions about personal conduct. Intellectual brilliance is not a permanent certificate of moral innocence.

This is why the Kila controversy must not be reduced to an opportunity for mockery. Nigerians should resist the temptation to turn an unfolding investigation into a spectacle of humiliation. The objective is not to destroy a man because questions have arisen about his academic standing. It is to establish the truth, protect institutions from misrepresentation and reaffirm the principle that no individual should stand above scrutiny. If the claims against him are substantiated, appropriate consequences should follow. If he produces verifiable evidence that resolves the disputed issues, that evidence should receive fair consideration. Neither public anger nor personal admiration should determine the outcome.

What Kila could have demonstrated, and can still demonstrate through a credible response, is that accountability begins with oneself. His explanation must address the specific questions raised by the investigations, including the institution said to have conferred his professorship and the academic qualifications now being questioned. General assurances about his professional standing cannot substitute for documents that independent institutions can authenticate. Equally, any institution that endorsed his credentials must explain the basis of its decision.

The irony is that Kila did not need to become a professor to contribute to Nigeria’s public conversation. He did not need an impressive collection of degrees to develop an informed opinion about governance. His ability to communicate, analyse policies and participate in public debate could have been judged on its merits. A society hungry for credible voices should be capable of accepting an intelligent commentator without insisting that he carry an academic title. By contrast, where an individual presents credentials that cannot withstand verification, the damage reaches beyond personal reputation to the credibility of legitimate scholars whose achievements were earned through recognised institutions and years of work.

The likes of Kila in our society remind us that the fight against dishonesty cannot succeed through eloquent speeches alone. It requires personal consistency, institutional discipline and the willingness to submit one’s own claims to the standards applied to everyone else. Those who demand transparency must be transparent. Those who insist on accountability must be accountable. And those who advise society on integrity must understand that their conduct is not exempt from examination simply because their arguments sound convincing.

Perhaps the most important lesson is that being real is not a weakness. A person who honestly presents his qualifications, acknowledges his limitations and allows his work to speak for him can still earn public respect. There is dignity in being knowledgeable without claiming an unearned distinction, just as there is honour in admitting an error and correcting it. The public may forgive human shortcomings more readily than deliberate attempts to mislead it, because honesty gives people something upon which trust can be rebuilt.

Nigeria does not lack people who can speak impressively about good governance. What it lacks, too often, is consistency between public declarations and private conduct. The country needs fewer performances of integrity and more demonstrable integrity itself. Until we learn to judge public figures by the relationship between their words, credentials and actions, we will continue to celebrate the language of accountability while struggling to establish its practice.

The question, therefore, is not whether Anthony Kila can still contribute to society. He can, provided his contributions are judged on their merits and the questions surrounding his credentials are addressed honestly. The question is whether he, and others who occupy similar positions of influence, understand that credibility cannot be demanded from the public while verification is treated as an inconvenience.

Africa’s Resources Must Build Africa, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

Across Africa lie enormous deposits of oil, gas, uranium, gold, lithium, cobalt, copper, diamonds and other strategic minerals, yet many of the countries sitting on these resources continue to struggle with poverty, unemployment, weak industrialisation and the steady movement of their young people towards Europe, North America and other destinations in search of better opportunities.

For decades, much of Africa’s natural wealth has travelled outward as raw material, while the greater economic value created through processing, refining, manufacturing and technology has accumulated elsewhere. Africa has supplied the resources that feed global industries, but has too often remained at the lower end of the economic chain, buying back finished products at prices far removed from what it earned when those raw materials left its soil.

That contradiction is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore because of what is happening in Niger Republic. Since General Abdourahamane Tiani came to power following the July 26, 2023 coup, his government has increasingly pursued greater control over Niger’s natural resources. What initially appeared to be part of the broader political rupture between Niamey and its former colonial power, France, has gradually developed into a wider policy of resource nationalism.

On June 19, 2025, Niger’s Council of Ministers approved the nationalisation of Société des Mines de l’Aïr, SOMAÏR, the uranium company operating at Arlit in the Agadez region. SOMAÏR was established in 1968 and began uranium production in 1971. Before nationalisation, French nuclear company Orano held 63.4 per cent, while Niger’s state mining company, SOPAMIN, held 36.6 per cent.

Between 1971 and 2024, SOMAÏR produced 81,861 tonnes of uranium, of which 80,518 tonnes were commercialised. Figures presented by the Nigerien government showed that Orano had taken 86.3 per cent of the commercialised production, while SOPAMIN accounted for 9.2 per cent.

In August 2026, the government took another step. It awarded the In Azaoua large-scale uranium mining permit in Arlit to Teloua Safeguarding Uranium Mining Company, TSUMCO, the state company created to replace SOMAÏR and continue operations over the former SOMAÏR perimeter. At its August 21 meeting, the Council of Ministers also approved the reassignment of another uranium permit, Madaouela I, to the state-linked Madaouela Mining Company.

The government has adopted a similar approach in the petroleum sector. On June 12, 2026, Niger’s Petroleum Minister, Hamadou Tini, announced that the government was reviewing the hydrocarbons code and preparing a new production-sharing contract model. He said the reforms were intended to strengthen the state’s negotiating capacity and increase the economic benefits accruing to Niger. He also disclosed plans to review provisions relating to cost recovery by petroleum operators and stressed the importance of training Nigerien professionals capable of negotiating more effectively with international companies.

Niger has also established MAZOUMAWA National Gold Company as part of its attempt to strengthen national control over gold resources and the country’s gold value chain. In January 2026, its Director-General, Abdou Ousseini, said the company intended to contribute to gold exploitation while controlling the valorisation and value chains of gold in Niger. The company had two exploration permits in the Dan Issa area and had collected more than 6,000 samples for analysis.

There is, therefore, something much bigger than the Niger-France dispute at stake. It is the ownership of Africa’s economic future.

For generations, the structure has remained remarkably familiar. Africa digs, pumps, cuts and exports. Someone elsewhere processes, refines, manufactures, finances and markets. The finished product eventually returns to African consumers at a considerably higher price.

That arrangement is not entirely without benefits. Foreign companies bring capital, technology, technical expertise, international markets and, in some cases, infrastructure that many African countries would struggle to provide on their own. The problem begins when that relationship becomes permanent, when Africa remains trapped at the extraction end of the value chain while the greater economic benefits of its resources accumulate elsewhere.

The African Union has recognised this problem for years through initiatives such as the African Mining Vision and its commodities strategy. The objective is for Africa to move from being primarily a supplier of raw materials towards greater value addition, stronger local content, higher returns from commodities and meaningful participation in global value chains.

The African Development Bank estimates that Africa possesses about 30 per cent of the world’s mineral reserves and could capture more than 10 per cent of the projected $16tn revenues from key green minerals by 2030. Yet the same institution reported that Africa received about $190.7bn in financial inflows in 2022 while losing approximately $587bn through financial leakages.

The implication is clear: Africa does not necessarily need to chase away foreign investors. It needs to become a better negotiator, a more capable participant and, ultimately, a stronger owner of the industries built around its own resources.

Botswana offers an important illustration. Its diamond industry was not built by simply shutting foreign capital out. Debswana, the company at the centre of Botswana’s diamond production, is jointly owned by the Government of Botswana and De Beers, with each holding 50 per cent. The partnership has become a major contributor to Botswana’s GDP, foreign exchange earnings and government revenue and employs about 5,000 staff and 6,000 contractors.

Tanzania has pursued another route by giving the state a minimum 16 per cent non-dilutable free-carried interest in mining companies, alongside taxation, royalties and other government participation mechanisms. Its local-content framework also seeks to ensure that Tanzanian companies participate in supplying goods and services to the mining industry.

Ghana has moved in a different direction. Rather than nationalising its gold mines, it has sought to increase domestic participation through regulation. Its 2025 local-content framework required surface mining operations to be undertaken by wholly Ghanaian-owned contractors, while underground contract mining requires at least 50 per cent Ghanaian ownership.

Zimbabwe’s lithium policy provides perhaps an even clearer example of beneficiation as a development strategy. After banning exports of unprocessed lithium ore in 2022, Zimbabwe announced in June 2025 that it would prohibit the export of lithium concentrates from January 1, 2027. The objective is to encourage greater domestic processing. Zimbabwe is Africa’s leading lithium producer, while Chinese-owned companies have invested more than $1bn in the country’s lithium sector since 2021.

If lithium is increasingly important to batteries and energy storage, Zimbabwe wants more of the economic activity generated by that demand to take place within Zimbabwe rather than elsewhere. That is precisely the direction Africa needs to consider.

The International Energy Agency reported in October 2025 that Africa captures less than one per cent of the value generated from manufacturing clean-energy technologies and their components, despite supplying around 75 per cent of global manganese, 70 per cent of cobalt and nearly 20 per cent of copper. The IEA estimates that moving into beneficiation, processing and manufacturing could raise the market value of minerals produced in Africa to about $120bn by 2040.

This is why the African Union’s Africa Green Minerals Strategy, adopted in March 2025, is significant. The strategy calls for Africa to move beyond raw mineral exports towards value addition at source, regional industrialisation, local beneficiation, job creation and economic diversification. The AU’s African Forum on Mining subsequently called for stronger continental bargaining power and high-level African critical-minerals diplomacy to ensure that mineral agreements prioritise local value addition rather than simply facilitate the export of raw materials.

Niger, therefore, should not be judged simply by whether its nationalisation policy succeeds or fails. Its experiment should be watched for what it reveals about both the possibilities and dangers of greater resource control.

National ownership does not automatically produce efficient management. A government can own a mine and still mismanage it. It can control petroleum and still import refined products. It can take over gold operations while communities around the mines remain poor. It can remove foreign companies and replace foreign inefficiency with domestic corruption.

Niger itself has already encountered some of these complications. Orano has pursued arbitration over the nationalisation of its interest in SOMAÏR. In September 2025, Reuters reported that about 1,500 tonnes of uranium, valued at roughly $270m, remained stockpiled at the former SOMAÏR mine. Orano had begun arbitration proceedings and warned against the material being transferred or sold without authorisation.

A country seeking greater control over its resources needs competent geologists, engineers, lawyers, accountants, negotiators, regulators and financial institutions. It needs reliable electricity, roads, railways and ports. It needs research institutions capable of developing technology. It needs transparent contracts and systems through which citizens can know what governments receive from their natural resources and how those revenues are spent.

Without these foundations, nationalisation can become an expensive political gesture. But Africa should not allow the imperfections of resource nationalism to become an excuse for maintaining a system in which the continent remains primarily an exporter of raw materials.

Nigeria illustrates the urgency. The country has oil, gas, gold, lithium, iron ore, coal and other minerals, but its economic history has repeatedly demonstrated the danger of exporting natural resources without developing sufficient downstream capacity.

The Tinubu administration has increasingly emphasised local processing and value addition in critical minerals. In July 2026, President Bola Tinubu commissioned a $250m lithium mining and processing plant in Nasarawa State with a capacity of 6,000 tonnes of lithium processing per day. It was described as Africa’s largest lithium processing facility.

Nigeria should not stop at processing lithium. It should be thinking about the battery industry, electric vehicles, energy-storage systems, industrial chemicals, research and the skilled workforce required to support those industries.

The same thinking should apply across Africa. A Congolese citizen living beside cobalt deposits should have access to opportunities created by cobalt. A Zambian living around copper mines should benefit from industries built around copper. A Ghanaian should see gold not merely as something extracted and exported, but as an opportunity for refining, jewellery, financial services and manufacturing. A Nigerien should be able to look at uranium and see engineering, science, technology and industrial opportunities. And a Nigerian should be able to look at oil and gas without accepting that the country’s natural destiny is simply to export crude and import refined products.

If Africa can retain more value from its resources, that value can help finance universities, technical schools, electricity, transport infrastructure, healthcare, manufacturing and technology. Those investments can create productive employment. Productive employment can reduce the economic pressure pushing young Africans towards foreign shores.

The real lesson from Niger, therefore, is not that every African government should wake up tomorrow and nationalise every foreign-owned mine, oilfield or industrial operation. That would be a simplistic reading of what is happening. The lesson is that the old bargain deserves serious reconsideration.

Africa should welcome investors, but it should negotiate better. It should welcome technology, but build its own capacity. It should welcome international capital, but ensure that African capital also grows. It should permit extraction, but demand value addition. It should collect royalties and taxes, but also build industries around the resources generating them.

Will Africa Follow Niger Republic? By Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

Africa’s greatest economic contradiction is buried beneath its own soil. Across the continent lie enormous deposits of oil, gas, uranium, gold, lithium, cobalt, copper, diamonds and other strategic minerals, yet many of the countries sitting on these resources continue to struggle with poverty, unemployment, weak industrialisation and the steady movement of their young people towards Europe, North America and other destinations in search of better opportunities.

For decades, much of Africa’s natural wealth has travelled outward as raw material, while the greater economic value created through processing, refining, manufacturing and technology has accumulated elsewhere. Africa has supplied the resources that feed global industries, but has too often remained at the lower end of the economic chain, buying back finished products at prices far removed from what it earned when those raw materials left its soil.

That contradiction is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore because of what is happening in Niger Republic. Since General Abdourahamane Tiani came to power following the July 26, 2023 coup, his government has increasingly pursued greater control over Niger’s natural resources. What initially appeared to be part of the broader political rupture between Niamey and its former colonial power, France, has gradually developed into a wider policy of resource nationalism.

On June 19, 2025, Niger’s Council of Ministers approved the nationalisation of Société des Mines de l’Aïr, SOMAÏR, the uranium company operating at Arlit in the Agadez region. SOMAÏR was established in 1968 and began uranium production in 1971. Before nationalisation, French nuclear company Orano held 63.4 per cent, while Niger’s state mining company, SOPAMIN, held 36.6 per cent.

Between 1971 and 2024, SOMAÏR produced 81,861 tonnes of uranium, of which 80,518 tonnes were commercialised. Figures presented by the Nigerien government showed that Orano had taken 86.3 per cent of the commercialised production, while SOPAMIN accounted for 9.2 per cent.

In August 2026, the government took another step. It awarded the In Azaoua large-scale uranium mining permit in Arlit to Teloua Safeguarding Uranium Mining Company, TSUMCO, the state company created to replace SOMAÏR and continue operations over the former SOMAÏR perimeter. At its August 21 meeting, the Council of Ministers also approved the reassignment of another uranium permit, Madaouela I, to the state-linked Madaouela Mining Company.

The government has adopted a similar approach in the petroleum sector. On June 12, 2026, Niger’s Petroleum Minister, Hamadou Tini, announced that the government was reviewing the hydrocarbons code and preparing a new production-sharing contract model. He said the reforms were intended to strengthen the state’s negotiating capacity and increase the economic benefits accruing to Niger. He also disclosed plans to review provisions relating to cost recovery by petroleum operators and stressed the importance of training Nigerien professionals capable of negotiating more effectively with international companies.

Niger has also established MAZOUMAWA National Gold Company as part of its attempt to strengthen national control over gold resources and the country’s gold value chain. In January 2026, its Director-General, Abdou Ousseini, said the company intended to contribute to gold exploitation while controlling the valorisation and value chains of gold in Niger. The company had two exploration permits in the Dan Issa area and had collected more than 6,000 samples for analysis.

There is, therefore, something much bigger than the Niger-France dispute at stake. It is the ownership of Africa’s economic future.

For generations, the structure has remained remarkably familiar. Africa digs, pumps, cuts and exports. Someone elsewhere processes, refines, manufactures, finances and markets. The finished product eventually returns to African consumers at a considerably higher price.

That arrangement is not entirely without benefits. Foreign companies bring capital, technology, technical expertise, international markets and, in some cases, infrastructure that many African countries would struggle to provide on their own. The problem begins when that relationship becomes permanent, when Africa remains trapped at the extraction end of the value chain while the greater economic benefits of its resources accumulate elsewhere.

The African Union has recognised this problem for years through initiatives such as the African Mining Vision and its commodities strategy. The objective is for Africa to move from being primarily a supplier of raw materials towards greater value addition, stronger local content, higher returns from commodities and meaningful participation in global value chains.

The African Development Bank estimates that Africa possesses about 30 per cent of the world’s mineral reserves and could capture more than 10 per cent of the projected $16tn revenues from key green minerals by 2030. Yet the same institution reported that Africa received about $190.7bn in financial inflows in 2022 while losing approximately $587bn through financial leakages.

The implication is clear: Africa does not necessarily need to chase away foreign investors. It needs to become a better negotiator, a more capable participant and, ultimately, a stronger owner of the industries built around its own resources.

Botswana offers an important illustration. Its diamond industry was not built by simply shutting foreign capital out. Debswana, the company at the centre of Botswana’s diamond production, is jointly owned by the Government of Botswana and De Beers, with each holding 50 per cent. The partnership has become a major contributor to Botswana’s GDP, foreign exchange earnings and government revenue and employs about 5,000 staff and 6,000 contractors.

Tanzania has pursued another route by giving the state a minimum 16 per cent non-dilutable free-carried interest in mining companies, alongside taxation, royalties and other government participation mechanisms. Its local-content framework also seeks to ensure that Tanzanian companies participate in supplying goods and services to the mining industry.

Ghana has moved in a different direction. Rather than nationalising its gold mines, it has sought to increase domestic participation through regulation. Its 2025 local-content framework required surface mining operations to be undertaken by wholly Ghanaian-owned contractors, while underground contract mining requires at least 50 per cent Ghanaian ownership.

Zimbabwe’s lithium policy provides perhaps an even clearer example of beneficiation as a development strategy. After banning exports of unprocessed lithium ore in 2022, Zimbabwe announced in June 2025 that it would prohibit the export of lithium concentrates from January 1, 2027. The objective is to encourage greater domestic processing. Zimbabwe is Africa’s leading lithium producer, while Chinese-owned companies have invested more than $1bn in the country’s lithium sector since 2021.

If lithium is increasingly important to batteries and energy storage, Zimbabwe wants more of the economic activity generated by that demand to take place within Zimbabwe rather than elsewhere. That is precisely the direction Africa needs to consider.

The International Energy Agency reported in October 2025 that Africa captures less than one per cent of the value generated from manufacturing clean-energy technologies and their components, despite supplying around 75 per cent of global manganese, 70 per cent of cobalt and nearly 20 per cent of copper. The IEA estimates that moving into beneficiation, processing and manufacturing could raise the market value of minerals produced in Africa to about $120bn by 2040.

This is why the African Union’s Africa Green Minerals Strategy, adopted in March 2025, is significant. The strategy calls for Africa to move beyond raw mineral exports towards value addition at source, regional industrialisation, local beneficiation, job creation and economic diversification. The AU’s African Forum on Mining subsequently called for stronger continental bargaining power and high-level African critical-minerals diplomacy to ensure that mineral agreements prioritise local value addition rather than simply facilitate the export of raw materials.

Niger, therefore, should not be judged simply by whether its nationalisation policy succeeds or fails. Its experiment should be watched for what it reveals about both the possibilities and dangers of greater resource control.

National ownership does not automatically produce efficient management. A government can own a mine and still mismanage it. It can control petroleum and still import refined products. It can take over gold operations while communities around the mines remain poor. It can remove foreign companies and replace foreign inefficiency with domestic corruption.

Niger itself has already encountered some of these complications. Orano has pursued arbitration over the nationalisation of its interest in SOMAÏR. In September 2025, Reuters reported that about 1,500 tonnes of uranium, valued at roughly $270m, remained stockpiled at the former SOMAÏR mine. Orano had begun arbitration proceedings and warned against the material being transferred or sold without authorisation.

A country seeking greater control over its resources needs competent geologists, engineers, lawyers, accountants, negotiators, regulators and financial institutions. It needs reliable electricity, roads, railways and ports. It needs research institutions capable of developing technology. It needs transparent contracts and systems through which citizens can know what governments receive from their natural resources and how those revenues are spent.

Without these foundations, nationalisation can become an expensive political gesture. But Africa should not allow the imperfections of resource nationalism to become an excuse for maintaining a system in which the continent remains primarily an exporter of raw materials.

Nigeria illustrates the urgency. The country has oil, gas, gold, lithium, iron ore, coal and other minerals, but its economic history has repeatedly demonstrated the danger of exporting natural resources without developing sufficient downstream capacity.

The Tinubu administration has increasingly emphasised local processing and value addition in critical minerals. In July 2026, President Bola Tinubu commissioned a $250m lithium mining and processing plant in Nasarawa State with a capacity of 6,000 tonnes of lithium processing per day. It was described as Africa’s largest lithium processing facility.

Nigeria should not stop at processing lithium. It should be thinking about the battery industry, electric vehicles, energy-storage systems, industrial chemicals, research and the skilled workforce required to support those industries.

The same thinking should apply across Africa. A Congolese citizen living beside cobalt deposits should have access to opportunities created by cobalt. A Zambian living around copper mines should benefit from industries built around copper. A Ghanaian should see gold not merely as something extracted and exported, but as an opportunity for refining, jewellery, financial services and manufacturing. A Nigerien should be able to look at uranium and see engineering, science, technology and industrial opportunities. And a Nigerian should be able to look at oil and gas without accepting that the country’s natural destiny is simply to export crude and import refined products.

If Africa can retain more value from its resources, that value can help finance universities, technical schools, electricity, transport infrastructure, healthcare, manufacturing and technology. Those investments can create productive employment. Productive employment can reduce the economic pressure pushing young Africans towards foreign shores.

The real lesson from Niger, therefore, is not that every African government should wake up tomorrow and nationalise every foreign-owned mine, oilfield or industrial operation. That would be a simplistic reading of what is happening. The lesson is that the old bargain deserves serious reconsideration.

Africa should welcome investors, but it should negotiate better. It should welcome technology, but build its own capacity. It should welcome international capital, but ensure that African capital also grows. It should permit extraction, but demand value addition. It should collect royalties and taxes, but also build industries around the resources generating them.

Alabidun is a media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com